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A  VAGABOND  HEROINE. 


A  VAGABOND  HEROINE. 


BY 


MKS.  ANNIE  EDWARDS, 

AUTHOR  Or  "  ARCHIE  LOVELL,"    "OUGHT  WE  TO  VISIT  HER,"   "  STEVEN 

LAWRENCE,  TEOKAN,"     "  ORDEAL  FOR  WIVES,"    "PHILIP  EARNS - 

CLIPPK,"  *TC.,  ETC. 


"  She  is  too  low  for  a  high  praise,  too  brown 

for  a  fair  praise,  and  too  little  for  a  great  praise:  only  this  commendation  I 
can  afford  her,  that  were  she  other  than  she  is,  she  were  unhandsome.'' 

— MUCH  ABO  ABOUT  NOTHLNU. 


NEW  YORK: 

SHELDON  &  COMPANY. 

1873. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER   I. 

PAGE 

THE  WINE  IN  THE  GRAPE- FLOWER 7 

CHAPTER  II. 
AMBROSIAL  CASH 26 

CHAPTER  III. 
LIGHT  WEDDED,  LIGHT  WIDOWED      .....    52 

CHAPTER  IV. 
WHAT  MEN  CALL  LOVE        .......    65 

CHAPTER  V. 
COMPLIMENTS,  NOT  LOVE      .......    83 

CHAPTER  VL 
"  MRS.  GRUXDY,  SIR" «       .    95 

CHAPTER  VIL 
M.UIMOX  WINS  His  WAY     ....<..  122 

CHAPTER  VUL 
VANITY  VEKSUS  COKSCIENCE  .  l<-8 


Vi  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  IX. 

PAGE 

THE  FINGER  OF  FATE 162 

CHAPTER  X. 
"  LAGRIMAS  1 " 170 

CHAPTER  XI. 
A  TRANSFORMATION  SCENE  .......  183 

CHAPTER  XII. 
THE  MEMORY  OF  A  Kiss 194 

CHAPTER  XIII. 
"  BOHEMIAN  HONOR" 212 

CHAPTER  XIV. 
THE  CURTAIN  FALLS       .  ......  222 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE  WINE  IN  THE  GKAPE-FLOWER. 

'PAIN  or  Clapham? 

A  brand-new  Clapham  villa,  all  dust,  dul- 
ness,  and  decorum,  with  "Mr.  Augustus 
Jones"  upon  the  brand-new  door-plate.  A 
drawing-room,  like  one's  life,  oppressively 
stiff  and  uninteresting,  dining-room  to  match,  hus- 
band to  match,  everything  to  match  !  Fine  Brussels 
carpets  beneath  one's  feet ;  a  sun  possessing  the 
warmth  and  cheerfulness  of  a  farthing  rush-light 
overhead.  Servants  to  wait  upon  one  and  consume 
one's  means ;  a  brougham  perhaps  bearing  the  Jones 
coat-of-arms  and  liveries  ;  indisputable  respectability, 
indisputable  appearance — value,  how  much  of  solid 
good  to  one's  self  \ — well  maintained.  Amusement, 
pleasure,  play,  the  quick-coursing  blood,  the  jollity, 
the  "  go"  of  existence,  nowhere. 
So  much  for  Clapham. 

And  Spain?  Spain,  just  across  the  Pyrenees 
there — Spain,  from  whence  the  warm  wind  blows 
on  Belinda's  face  at  this  moment — what  of  that  alter- 


g  A  VAGABOND  HEROINE. 

native?  An  uninteresting  husband  to  start  with, 
BO  much  in  common  have  futurity's  chances  both : 
but  not  a  stiff,  not  a  dull  one.  A  genial  little  hu- 
man creature  in  the  main  is  Maria  Jose  de  Seballos, 
wine  merchant  and  commission  agent  of  Seville, 
unburdened  'tis  true  by  superfluity  of  intellect,  but 
light  of  step  in  waltz  and  cachuca,  and  singing  tenor 
love  songs  passably ;  his  swarthy  fingers  too  beringed, 
his  swarthy  locks  too  bergamoted  for  the  very  finest 
taste,  his  diet  overteuding  somewhat  toward  garlic ; 
and  still,  if  but  by  virtue  of  his  Spanish  picturesque- 
ness,  less  vulgar  far  than  Mr.  Augustus  Jones  of 
Clapham.  "What  would  life  be  by  his  side  ? 

In  the  first  place,  thinks  Belinda  sagely,  life,  did 
one  marry  the  little  Sevillian,  need  not  of  necessity 
be  passed  at  his  side  at  all.  Maria  Jose  would  natur- 
ally have  to  look  after  his  agency  business,  travel  to 
distant  countries  for  wine  orders,  take  his  pleasure, 
as  Spanish  gentlemen  do,  in  club  or  cafe,  leaving  his 
wife  free.  Free — in  a  flat  in  a  Seville  street ;  no 
appearance  to  keep  up;  no  respectability;  a  tiled 
floor  instead  of  Brussels  carpet  beneath  one's  feet ; 
not  a  hope  of  brougham  or  liveries  this  side  heaven 
—  but  free !  The  good,  warmth-giving  sun  of  Spain 
overhead ;  a  hundred  sweet  distractions  of  dance  and 
tertulia  to  count  the  days  by ;  bull-fights,  theatres, 
and  music  for  one's  Sundaj-s :  enjoyment,  in  short, 
the  rule,  not  the  exception  of  life,  and  with  only 
Maria  Jose,  who  after  all  stands  comparison  with 
Mr.  Augustus  Jones  right  well,  for  drawback. 

Belinda  crosses  her  arms,  shakes  her  head  philo- 


A  VAGABOND  HEROINE.  9 

eophically,  yawns  a  little,  then  casts  herself  full 
length  on  the  turf,  in  one  of  those  attitudes  of  deli- 
cious southern  laziness  which  Murillo's  beggar  chil- 
dren have  made  familiar  to  us,  and,  gazing  up  through 
the  branches  of  the  cork  trees  at  the  intense  smalt- 
blue  of  the  sky  above,  begins  to  meditate. 

Sunburnt  as  a  maize-field  in  June,  unshackled 
bodily  and  mentally  by  rule  as  any  young  gitana 
who  roams  the  mountains  yonder,  through  what  con- 
tradictory whim  of  fortune  came  Belinda  O'Shea  by 
this  high-sounding  name  of  hers  ?  A  name  remind- 
ing one  irresistibly  of  the  musk  and  millefleurs 
of  boudoirs,  of  Mr.  Pope's  verses,  china  teacups, 
rouge,  pearl  powder,  artifice !  She  will  be  seventeen 
in  a  month  or  two,  but  possesses  few  of  the  theoretic 
charms  assigned  by  poets  and  novel-writers  to  that 
age.  Her  hands  and  feet  are  disproportionably  large 
for  her  slender  limbs,  her  waist  is  straight  but  form- 
less, her  gait  and  gestures  are  masculine — no,  not 
that  either,  to  eyes  that  can  read  aright  the  girl  is  as 
full  of  potential  womanly  grace  as  is  the  grape-flower 
of  wine ;  and  still  I  dare  not  call  her  "  feminine," 
as  people  of  the  north  or  of  cities  understand  the 
word.  She  can  play  paume,  the  national  Basque 
fives  or  rackets,  with  any  gamin  of  her  stature  in 
St.  Jean  de  Luz;  in  the  excitement  of  the  sport 
will  show  hot  blood  like  her  comrades — occasionally, 
indeed,  say  at  some  disputed  point  of  a  set  match, 
will  be  tempted  into  using  a  very  mild  gamin's  ex- 
pletive or  two;  she  can  row,  she  can  swim,  she  can 
whistle.  But  through  her  great  dark  eyes,  poor 


JO  A  VAGABOND  HEROINE. 

forsaken  Belinda,  the  softest  girlish  soul  still  looks 
out  at  you  with  pathetic  incongruity,  and  though 
her  vocabulary  be  not  choice,  she  possesses  Heaven's 
great  gift  to  her  sex,  a  distinctly,  excellently  femin- 
ine voice.  Of  her  possible  beauty  at  some  future 
time  we  will  not  now  speak.  She  is  in  the  chrysalis 
or  hobbledehoy  stage,  when  you  may  any  day  see  a 
skinny,  sallow,  ugly  duckling  of  a  girl  turn  into  a 
pretty  one,  like  a  transformation  in  a  Christmas 
piece.  Eyes,  mouth,  feet,  hands — all  look  too  big 
for  Belinda  at  present;  and  as  to  her  raiment,  her 
tattered  frock,  her  undarned — no,  I  must  really  enter 
a  little  upon  the  antecedents  of  my  heroine's  life 
before  I  make  known  these  details  in  all  the  disgrace- 
ful nakedness  of  fact  to  the  public. 

To  begin  with,  the  blood  of  earls  and  kings  (Hi- 
bernian kings)  runs  in  her  veins.  Her  mother,  the 
Lady  Elizabeth  Yansittart,  fifth  daughter  of  the 
Earl  of  Liskeard,  at  the  romantic  age  of  forty-one 
fell  in  love  with  and  married  a  certain  fascinating 
Irish  spendthrift,  Major  Cornelius  O'Shea,  whom 
she  met  accidentally  at  a  Scarborough  ball ;  endured 
the  neglect,  and  worse  than  neglect,  of  her  handsome 
husband,  for  the  space  of  two  years ;  then,  happily 
for  herself,  poor  soul,  died,  leaving  Cornelius  the 
father  of  one  baby  daughter,  the  Belinda  of  this 
little  history. 

Why  Major  O'Shea,  an  easy-tempered,  easy- 
principled  soldier  of  fortune,  no  longer  himself  in 
the  freshest  bloom  of  youth — why  O'Shea  in  the 
first  instance  should  have  been  at  the  pains  to  woo 


A  VAGABOND  HEROINE.  H 

his  elderly  Lady  Elizabeth  no  one  could  tell,  except 
that  she  was  Lady  Elizabeth,  and  that  interest,  that 
ignis  fcutuus  of  ruined  men,  might  be  supposed  to 
lie  dormant  in  the  Earl  her  father's  family.  "What- 
ever his  motives,  whatever  his  matrimonial  disap- 
pointments, the  Major,  even  his  best  friends  allowed, 
behaved  himself  creditably  on  his  wife's  death. 
"Wore  a  band  that  all  but  covered  his  hat,  swore 
never  again  to  touch  a  card  or  dice-box  (nor  broke 
his  oath  for  three  weeks) ;  and  wrote  a  letter  full  not 
only  of  pious,  but  of  well-worded  sentiments  to  his 
father-in-law — from  whom,  despite  many  touching 
allusions  to  the  infant  pledge  left  behind  by  their 
sainted  Elizabeth,  he  received,  I  must  say,  but  a 
curt  and  pompous  dozen  lines  in  reply.  Then,  his 
duties  as  a  widower  discharged,  Cornelius  cast  about 
him  to  see  how  he  should  best  perform  those  of  a 
father.  The  sum  of  three  thousand  pounds,  Lady 
Elizabeth's  slender  fortune,  was  settled  inalienably 
*>n  the  child.  "Me  little  one  is  not  a  pauper  en- 
tirely," O'Shea  would  say,  with  tears  in  his  good- 
looking  Irish  eyes.  "  If  Providence  in  its  wisdom 
should  be  pleased  to  sign  my  recall  to-morrow,  me 
angel  Belinda  would  have  her  mother's  fortune  to 
stand  between  her  and  starvation."  And  so  till  she 
had  reached  the  age  of  seven  "  me  angel  Belinda'' 
was  indifferently  boarded,  at  the  rate  of  about  forty 
pounds  a  year,  and  no  holidays,  in  a  Cork  convent. 
Then  O'Shea  brought  his  face  and  lineage  once 
more  to  the  marriage  market,  on  this  occasion  win- 
ning no  faded  scion  of  nobility,  but  the  still  bloom- 


12  A  VAGABOND  HEROINE. 

ing  widow  of  a  well-to-do  London  lawyer,  and  Be- 
linda, for  the  first  time  since  her  birth,  had  to  learn 
the  meaning — bitterer  than  sweet,  poor  little  mortal, 
in  her  case — of  the  word  home. 

No  young  child,  it  may  be  safely  asserted,  was 
ever  unhappy  in  a  community  of  cloistered  nuns. 
Screen  a  flower  as  persistently  as  you  will  from  the 
wholesome  kisses  of  sun  and  light,  and  if  some 
straggling  breath  of  heaven  chance  to  reach  it,  not  a 
poor,  distorted,  colorless  petal  but  will  assert  nature 
in  spite  of  you.  Bring  women's  hearts  to  a  state  of 
moral  anaemia  by  all  the  appliances  priestly  science 
can  command,  then  let  little  children  come  near 
them,  and  from  each  pale  vestal  will  blossom  forth 
the  instincts  of  maternity  still!  If  Belinda  had 
never  known  the  exclusive  passion  of  a  mother's  love, 
she  had  known  what  at  seven  years  of  age  is  prob- 
ably to  the  full  as  welcome — petting  and  attention 
without  limits.  Before  she  had  been  a  week  under 
the  roof  of  her  father  and  his  new  wife,  the  cold  iron 
of  neglect,  sharper  to  a  child's  sensitive  nature  than 
any  alternation  of  harshness  and  affection,  had  enter- 
ed her  soul. 

The  second  Mrs.  O'Shea  was  a  woman  whom  all 
the  ladies  of  her  acquaintance  called  "  sweet" — you 
know  the  kind  of  human  creature  she  must  be?  A 
blonde  skin,  the  least  in  the  world  inclined  to  freckle, 
blonde  hair,  blonde  eyelashes,  eyes  of  a  dove,  voice 
of  a  dying  zephyr.  A  sweet  little  woman,  a  dear 
little  woman,  an  admirably  well-dressed,  and,  what 
is  more,  a  well-condncted  little  woman,  but — not  fond 


A  VAGABOND  HEROINE.  13 

of  children.  Nothing  could  more  beautifully  befit 
her  character  and  the  occasion  than  her  conduct  to- 
ward her  small  stepdaughter.  "I  should  never 
forgive  myself  if  the  poor  darling  grew  up  without 
regarding  me  as  a  mother,"  said  Mrs.  O'Shea,  not 
wholly  forgetful  perhaps  that  the  poor  darling  could 
call  the  Earl  of  Liskeard  grandpapa.  "  And,  though 
the  Major  is  so  sadly  indifferent  on  the  most  vital  of 
all  subjects,  I  feel  it  my  duty  to  bring  her  at  once 
ander  Protestant  influences."  But  the  Protestant 
influences  established — a  grim  London  nurse  in  a 
London  back-nursery ;  the  discovery  made,  too,  that 
obdurate  aristocratic  connections  were  in  no  way  to 
be  softened  through  the  child's  agency — and  Belinda, 
on  the  score  of  love,  could  scarce  have  fared  worse 
had  she  been  one  of  the  gutter  children  whom  she 
watched  and  envied,  through  the  prison-bars  of  her 
window,  down  in  the  court  below. 

•  Had  she  been  ornamental,  the  bolls  of  life  might 
have  broken  differently  for  her ;  a  rose-and-white 
flaxen-curled  puppet  sitting  beside, another  rose-and- 
white  flaxeu-chignoned  puppet  in  a  brougham,  being 
scarcely  less  attractive,  though  on  the  whole  more 
troublesome,  than  a  good  breed  of  pug.  But  she 
was  very  far  indeed  from  ornamental :  a  skinny, 
dark-complexioned  child,  with  over-big  eyes  looking 
wistfully  from  an  over-small  face,  and  hair  cropped 
close  to  the  head,  coupe  a  rasoir,  according  to  French 
fashion  often  adopted  for  the  younger  children  in 
some  Irish  convents.  And  so,  all  fortuitous  accidents 
working  together  and  against  her,  Belinda  was  left 


14:  A  VAGABOND  HEROINE. 

to  starve !  Her  small  body  nourished  on  the  accus- 
tomed roast  mutton  and  rice  pudding  of  the  English 
nursery,  and  her  soul — eager,  fervent;  hungry  little 
soul  that  it  was — left  to  starve  ! 

She  tried,  impelled  by  the  potent  necessity  of 
loving  there  was  in  her,  to  love  her  nurses.  But 
Mrs.  O' Shea's  was  a  household  in  which,  notwith- 
standing the  sweetness  of  the  mistress,  the  women 
servants  shifted  as  perpetually  as  the  characters  in  a 
pantomime.  If  Belinda  loved  a  Sarah  one  month, 
she  must  perforce  love  a  Mary  the  next,  and  then  a 
new  Sarah,  and  then  a  Hannah.  She  tried,  casting 
longing  eyes  at  them  from  her  iron-bound  prison- 
windows,  to  love  the  neighboring  gutter  children — 
happy  gutter  children,  free  to  make  the  most  of  such 
grimy  fractions  of  earth  and  sky  as  fate  had  yielded 
them  !  She  tried — no  ;  effort  was  not  needed  here ; 
with  all  the  might  of  her  ardent,  keenly-strung  na- 
ture, Belinda,  throughout  those  early  years  of  isola- 
tion and  neglect,  loved  her  father. 

Little  enough  she  saw  of  him.  O'Shea  had  come 
into  a  fortune  of  some  thirty  or  forty  thousand 
pounds  by  his  second  marriage,  and  was  spending  it 
like  a  man.  (Like  a  monster  !  Mrs.  O'Shea  would 
declare  piteously,  when  the  inevitable  day  of  reckon- 
ing had  overtaken  them.  AYould  she  ever  have  con- 
sented to  a  brougham  and  men  servants  and  Sunday 
dinners — Sunday  dinners!  with  her  principles! — if 
she  had  known  that  Major  O'Shea  was  a  pauper,  nut 
worth  the  coat  he  was  married  in !)  Occasionally, 
twice  in  three  months,  perhaps,  the  fancy  would 


A  VAGABOND  HEROINE.  15 

strike  Cornelius  to  lounge,  his  pipe  in  his  mouth, 
into  the  child's  nursery  for  a  game  of  romps.  Occa- 
sionally, after  entertaining  some  extra  fine  friends  at 
dinner,  perhaps  he  would  bid  the  servants  bring 
Miss  O'Sliea  down  to  dessert,  chiefly  it  would  seem 
— but  Belinda  \vas  happily  indiscriminative — for  the 
opportunity  her  presence  afforded  of  airing  his  con- 
nection with  the  Earl  of  Liskeard's  family.  On  a 
few  blissful  Sundays  throughout  the  year,  would  take 
her  out  for  a  walk  through  the  parks. 

This  was  all — the  sole  approach  to  parental  love 
that  brightened  Belinda's  lonely  child's  life ;  and  as 
years  went  on  even  this  scant  intercourse  between 
O'Shea  and  his  daughter  lessened.  Difficulties  mul- 
tiplied round  the  man ;  truths  of  many  kinds  dawned 
upon  the  poor  pink-and-white  fool  whose  substance 
he  had  wasted.  Recriminations,  long  absences,  cruel 
retrenchments  of  expenditure,  falling  off  of  fair- 
weather  friends,  all  followed  in  natural  sequence. 
And  then  came  the  crash  in  earnest :  Belinda's  pit- 
tance their  only  certain  support  for  the  future ! 
The  house  in  May  Fair  must  be  exchanged  for  one 
in  Bayswater :  the  house  in  Bayswater  must  give 
place  to  lodgings ;  the  lodgings  from  "  elegance,"  so 
called,  must  sink  to  respectability  ;  respectability  to 
eighteen  shillings  a  week,  no  extras,  and  dirt  and 
discomfort  unlimited.  Belinda,  instead  of  roast  mut- 
ton and  rice  pudding,  must  eat  whatever  cold  scraps 
chanced  to  be  over  from  yesterday's  meal,  and  no 
pudding  at  all ;  instead  of  yawning  over  French 
verbs,  or  thrumming  scales  on  the  piano,  must  run 


16  A  VAGABOND  HEROINE. 

errands,  mend  clothes,  crimp  chignons,  plait  false 
tresses,  and  generally  make  herself  the  milliner, 
lady's  maid,  and  drudge  of  her  stepmamma,  Hose. 

Barring  the  hair-dressing  duties,  which,  seeing 
the  straits  to  which  they  were  reduced,  goaded  her 
to  desperation.  I  should  say  the  change  of  fortune 
affected  the  girl's  spirits  but  lightly.  Children  of 
a  certain  age  rather  like  catastrophes  that  cut  them 
adrift  from  all  old  landmarks,  so  long  at  least  as  the 
catastrophes  wear  the  gloss  of  newness.  Belinda, 
by  temperament,  craved  for  change,  movement,  ac- 
tion of  any  kind,  and  of  these  she  had  far  more  in 
Bohemia  than  Belgravia.  She  had  also  more  of 
her  father !  Not  a  very  desirable  acquisition,  one 
would  say,  viewing  matters  with  the  eyes  of  reason  ; 
but  Belinda,  you  see,  viewed  them  with  the  eyes  of 
love — enormous  difference. 

Cornelius  descended  the  ladder  of  life  with  a 
philosophic,  gentlemanly  grace,  that  added  the  last 
drop  of  bitterness  to  Mi's.  O' Shea's  cup.  It  was  not 
his  first  experience  of  the  kind,  it  must  be  remem- 
bered; and  so  long  as  abundant  alcoholic  resource 
fail  not,  'tis  curious  with  w7hat  ease  men  of  his  stamp 
get  used  to  these  little  social  vicissitudes.  O'Shea 
had  worn  a  threadbare  coat,  had  frequented  a  tavern 
instead  of  a  club,  had  drunk  gin  and  water  instead 
of  claret  and  champagne,  before  this,  and  fell  back 
into  the  old,  well-greased  groove  of  insolvency  almost 
with  a  sense  of  relief. 

Belinda,  who  could  see  no  evil  in  what  she  loved, 
thought  papa's  resignation  sublime! 


A  VAGABOND  HEROINE.  17 

His  dress  from  shabbiness  degenerated  to  some- 
thing worse,  his  nose  grew  redder,  his  hours  and  his 
gait  alike  more  uncertain.  In  Belinda's  eyes  he  was 
still  the  best  and  dearest  of  fathers,  the  most  incom- 
parably long-suffering  of  husbands.  "Rose  must 
have  her  chignons  crimped,  must  put  on  her  pearl 
powder  and  her  silk  dresses,  just  as  if  we  were  rich 
still,"  the  girl  would  think  with  the  blind  injustice 
of  her  age,  "  while  papa,  poor  papa,  wears  his  oldest 
clothes  and  broken  boots  ;  yes,  and  will  sing  a  song 
at  times  to  his  little  girl,  and  be  gay  and  light-hearted 
through  It  all."  And  the  wisdom  of  the  whole 
world  would  not  have  convinced  her  that  there  could 
be  courage,  of  a  kind,  in  Rose's  crimped  chignon 
and  silk  dresses,  and  cowardice — that  worst  coward- 
ice which  springs  from  apathetic  despair — in  her 
father's  greasy  coat  and  broken  boots  and  gin-and- 
water  joviality ! 

The  truth  was  this :  Cornelius  knew  that  his  last 
trick  was  made,  Rose  that  she  had  the  possibility  of 
one  still  in  her  hand — a  certain  Uncle  Robert,  crusty, 
vulgar,  rich,  "  living  retired "  in  his  own  villa  at 
Brompton.  Yery  different  would  Belinda's  story 
have  turned  out  had  this  uncle  chanced  to  be  an 
aunt.  The  old  lady  never  lived  who  could  resist  the 
blandishments  of  Cornelius  O'Shea  when  he  willed 
to  fascinate.  Upon  the  coarse,  tough  heart,  the 
hardened,  unbelieving  ears  of  Uncle  Robert,  the 
Irishman's  sentiments,  repentance,  touching  allusions 
even  to  honor  and  high  lineage,  were  alike  wasted. 
Rosie  had  chosen  to  throw  herself  away  upon  a  scoun- 


18  A  VAGABOND  HEROINE. 

drel.  Don't  talk  to  him  about  birth  ;  Uncle  Robert 
called  a  man  a  gentleman  who  acted  as  a  gentleman. 
Rosie,  poor  fool,  had  made  her  bed  and  must  lie 
upon  it — for  Uncle  Robert's  language  was  no  less 
coarse  than  his  intelligence.  Still,  let  her  come  to 
want,  let  the  scoundrel  of  a  husband  decamp,  take 
his  worthless  presence  to  any  other  country  he  chose, 
and  keep  there,  and  the  door  of  Uncle  Robert's 
house  would  never  be  closed  against  his  sister's  child. 
And  as  the  old  man  had  not  another  near  relation 
upon  the  face  of  the  earth,  Mrs.  Rose  knew  pretty 
well  that,  O 'Shea's  disappearance  once  compassed,  not 
only  would  the  door  of  Uncle  Robert's  house,  but  a 
fair  chance  of  a  place  in  Uncle  Robert's  will,  stand 
open  to  her. 

A  last  card,  I  repeat,  was  yet  to  be  played  by 
Mrs.  O'Shea.  She  played  it  well — with  that  in- 
stinctive knowledge  of  male  human  nature  that  you 
will  find  in  the  very  shallowest  feminine  souls.  Un- 
cle Robert  was  a  democrat  to  the  backbone ;  tittle- 
tattle  from  the  bloated  upper  ten  must  consequently 
be  tasteful  to  him,  were  it  but  as  proof  of  his  own 
radical  theories ;  and  Rose  would  prattle  to  him  by 
the  hour  together  about  her  ladyship's  card  debts, 
and  his  grace's  peccadillos,  and  her  poor  dear  O'Shea's 
intimate  connection  with  the  aristocracy.  Uncle 
Robert  was  as  proud  of  his  purse  as  any  self-made 
man  in  England.  Nothing  swelled  him  with  the 
righteous  sense  of  solvency  like  the  sight  of  another's 
pauperism ;  still,  for  his  niece  to  have  appeared  dis- 
creditably dressed  before  the  servants,  a  poor  rela- 


A  VAGABOND  HEROINE.  19 

tion  in  all  the  galling  indecency  of  a  merino  gown 
or  mended  gloves,  would  have  exasperated  the  old 
man  beyond  measure.  So  Rose  took  excellent  care 
to  do  her  pauperism  genteelly.  In  the  most  becom- 
ing little  bonnet,  the  most  scrupulously  neat  silk 
dress — "  the  last  of  all  my  pretty  things,  Uncle  Rob- 
ert. Oh,  if  you  knew — can  we  poor  women  help 
being  foolish  ? — if  you  knew  how  dreadful  it  is  to 
one  to  give  up  the  refinements  of  life  ! " — in  the 
most  becoming  attire,  1  say,  that  woman  could  wear, 
this  simple  creature  would  pay  her  humble,  tearful 
conciliator}'  visits  to  the  Bromptoii  villa,  and  seldom 
return  without  a  crisp  piece  of  paper,  never  entirely 
empty-handed,  to  the  bosom  of  her  family. 

At  last,  one  fine  spring  morning,  came  an  over- 
ture of  direct  reconciliation,  couched  in  the  plainest 
possible  language,  from  Uncle  Robert's  own  lips. 
Let  Major  O'Shea  betake  himself  to  America,  one 
of  the  colonies,  anywhere  out  of  England  that  he 
chose,  solemnly  swearing  to  keep  away  during  the 
space  of  two  years  at  least,  and  Uncle  Robert  prom- 
ised not  only  to  receive  back  his  niece  to  preside 
over  his  house  and  sit  at  the  head  of  his  table,  but  to 
pay  O'Shea  the  sum  of  three  hundred  pounds  before 
his  departure.  Enough,  surely,  to  last,  if  the  man  had 
a  man's  heart  within  his  breast,  until  such  time  as  he 
could  gain  a  decent  independence  for  himself  by 
work. 

Cornelius  was  absent  from  home,  that  is  to  say, 
from  their  dingy  lodgings,  for  the  time  being,  when 
this  occurred :  had  been  absent  more  than  a  fortnight, 


20  A  VAGABOND  HEROINE. 

Heaven  knows  on  what  mission — I  believe  he  called 
it  the  Doncaster  Spring  Meeting  to  his  wife  and 
daughter.  He  returned  late  that  same  evening, 
rather  more  hiccoughing  of  speech  than  usual,  and 
with  just  sixpence  short  for  the  payment  of  his  cab- 
hire  in  his  pocket. 

Rosie  broke  the  news  of  her  uncle's  proffered 
generosity  as  O'Shea  sat  drinking  his  hot  gin-and- 
water  after  supper,  Belinda  mending  a  very  torn 
Blocking  with  very  long  stitches  at  his  side. 

"Of  course  it  is  impossible/'  sighed  Mrs.  O'Shea, 
•with  tears  in  her  meek  eyes.  "  I  feel  it  a  duty  to 
mention  the  proposal,  if  only  to  show  the  Christian 
spirit  of  my  relations ;  but  of  course  such  a  separa- 
tion would  be  impossible." 

"Impossible,  Rose!"  cried  O'Shea,  his  sodden 
face  brightening.  Of  so  tine  and  discursive  a  na- 
ture was  the  creature's  hopefulness,  that  the  bare 
mention  of  three  hundred  pounds  and  of  being  rid 
of  his  domesticities  sufficed  to  inspire  him  with  the 
visions  of  a  millionaire.  "  Who  talks  of  impossible  ? 
Am  I  the  man,  d'ye  think — is  Cornelius  O'Shea  the 
man  to  let  his  own  paltry  feelings  stand  between  his 
family  and  prosperity  ?  " 

And  in  less  time  than  it  has  taken  me  to  write, 
husband  and  wife  had  made  up  their  minds  heroically 
to  the  sacrifice.  The  details  were  not  difficult  to 
agree  upon.  Cornelius  would  seek  his  fortune  in 
America,  "  the  best  country  on  earth  for  a  man  of 
resolution  and  ability."  Poor,  semi-widowed  Rose 
took  refuge  at  .Bi'ornpton.  Belinda,  with  the  hundred 


A  VAGABOND  HEROINE.  21 

and  twenty  pounds  a  year  derived  from  her  mother's 
fortune,  might  be  considered  independent.  She 
should  be  sent  to  some  moderately  expensive  board- 
ing-school for  the  next  two  years,  the  term  of  her 
father's  banishment,  and  Uncle  Robert  had  consider- 
ately said  that  she  might  look  upon  his  house  as  her 
home  during  the  midsummer  and  Christmas  holi- 
days. 

Belinda  independent,  Cornelius  put  upon  his  legs 
and  offered  his  freedom,  and  Rose  restored  to  a  pew 
in  church,  fine  clothes,  and  livery  servants.  "What  a 
touch  of  the  magician's  wand  was  this ! 

Next  day  was  Sunday.  Major  O'Shea  dyed  his 
whiskers,  which  he  had  suffered  to  grow  grey  under 
the  cold  shade  of  poverty,  brushed  up  his  coat,  put 
on  a  pair  of  lavender  gloves,  and  lounged  away  the 
afternoon  in  the  park,  his  hat  as  rakishly  set  on  his 
head,  his  whole  air  as  jaunty  as  in  the  palmiest  days 
of  his  youth.  Madame,  after  duly  attending  morn- 
ing service — for  was  it  not  her  first  duty,  said  Rosie, 
her  eyes  swimming,  to  offer  thanksgiving  for  her 
own  and  her  dear  O'Shea's  good  fortune-? — madame, 
after  attending  morning  service,  betook  herself  to 
Brompton,  and  employed  the  remainder  of  the  day 
in  talking  over  events  and  planning  a  thousand 
agreeable  domestic  comforts  for  herself  with  Uncle 
Robert.  Belinda,  poor  little  fool,  cried  herself  white 
and  sick  with  passionate  grief.  She  did  not  want 
respectability,  or  boarding-schools,  or  a  home  in  the 
holidays.  She  wanted  all  she  loved  on  earth,  her 
worthless  old  father,  and  was  to  lose  him. 


22  'A  VAGABOND  HEROINE. 

"We  really  have  very  different  ways  of  show- 
ing our  affection,"  said  Mrs.  O'Shea  when  she  re- 
turned well  dressed,  blooming,  full  of  hope  in  the 
future,  and  found  the  child  crouched  down,  dinner- 
less,  dirty,  her  face  disfigured  and  swollen  with  tears, 
beside  a  fireless  hearth.  "  I  suppose  I  shall  suffer 
more  than  any  one  else  by  your  papa's  absence,  but 
I  do  what  is  right.  I  do  not  embitter  the  thorny 
path  of  duty  still  more  to  his  feet" — Rosie  had  al- 
ways a  fine  florid  style  of  metaphor  of  her  own 
when  she  tried  to  talk  grand — "  by  useless  tears  and 
lamentations." 

From  that  night  on  until  the  hour  of  final  sep- 
aration, scarcely  more  than  a  week,  Belinda  kept  her 
feelings  better  under  control.  She  worked  a  little 
purse  in  secret,  upon  which  you  may  be  sure  many 
a  salt  tear  fell,  put  in  it  all  her  slender  hoard  of 
pocket  money,  and  pushed  it  into  her  father's  not 
unwilling  hand  on  the  day  of  his  departure — instinct 
telling  her  what  kind  of  gift  would  to  Cornelius  be 
the  welcomest  token  of  filial  love.  When  the  su- 
preme moment  of  parting  had  arrived  she  clung  to 
him,  shivering,  tearless,  dumb ;  while  Rosie,  whose 
only  feeling  was  one  of  cheerful  relief,  cried  almost 
to  the  verge  of  unbecomingness,  and  uttered  every 
imaginable  wifely  platitude  about  the  heart-rending 
cruelty  of  the  situation,  and  the  dreadful,  dreadful 
pain  that  her  devotion  to  duty  and  to  her  husband's 
interests  was  costing  her. 

Then  came  the  removal  to  Brompton  ;  fine  rose- 
wood and  mahogany,  excellent  dinners,  city  friends, 


A  VAGABOND  HEROINE.  23 

Uncle  Robert's  vulgar,  purse-proud  talk — all,  it  would 
seem,  very  tasteful  to  Mrs.  O'Shea.  And  then,  less 
than  a  twelvemonth  after  Belinda  felt  the  last  kiss  oc 
her  father's  lips,  came  a  New  York  paper,  directed 
in  a  strange  hand,  to  Uncle  Robert,  and  containing 
the  bald  announcement  of  Cornelius  O'Shea's  death. 
The  poor  little  girl,  awaj  at  a  second-class  Brighton 
boarding-school,  was  summoned  home  in  haste;  the 
blinds  of  the  Brompton  villa  were  drawn  decently 
close  for  four  days,  and  partially  lowered  on  the  fifth, 
or  imaginary  funeral  day;  Rosie,  for  the  second 
time  in  her  life,  veiled  her  sorrow  under  the  most 
bewitching  weeds.  Uncle  Robert  talked  about  the 
mysterious  ways  of  Providence,  kept  the  corners  of 
his  mouth  well  down  before  the  servants,  and  ere 
a  week  was  over  had  made  a  new  will  leaving  every 
shilling  he  possessed  at  the  unconditional  disposal  of 
his  dear  niece  Rose. 

O'Shea,  in  short,  in  dying  had  committed  by  far 
the  best  action  of  his  half-century  of  life,  and  every- 
body in  the  house  knew  it.  Everybody  but  Belinda ! 
Nature  has  compensation  for  us  all — gives  a  neg- 
lected little  daughter  to  love,  to  mourn,  even  a  Cor- 
nelius O'Shea.  Fiercer  than  ever  grew  Belinda's 
rebellion  now  against  Uncle  Robert's  smart  furniture, 
dinners,  butler,  all  of  them  bought,  she  would  say, 
her  dark  eyes  flashing  fire  through  her  tears,  bought 
with  papa's  life,  If  they  had  not  driven  papa  away 
from  England  he  had  not  died,  nor  she  been  deso- 
late !  Lot  them  send  her  away — anywhere  on  the 
face  of  the  earth  that  was  not  Brompton.  Yes,  she 


24  A  VAGABOND  HEROINE. 

would  go  to  school  abroad — to  Bologne,  Berlin,  as 
they  chose.  Only — pathetic  stipulation  for  her  age 
— let  her  remain  away  until  she  was  old  enough 
to  see  after  herself  in  life,  unaided,  and  let  her  have 
no  holidays.  And  a  charmingly  opportune  chance 
of  gratifying  the  girl's  perverse  fancies  was  not  long 
in  presenting  itself.  Sedulously  reading  through 
the  educational  column  of  the  "Times/5  Rose  one 
morning,  with  a  lighting  of  the  stepmaternal  bosom, 
came  upon  the  following : 

RARE  OPPORTUNITY  FOR  PARENTS  AND  GUARDIANS. 

A  lady  of  literary  attainments,  socially  unencumbered,  and 
entertaining  advanced  ideas  aa  to  the  higher  culture  and  des- 
tinies of  her  sex,  offers  her  society  and  influence  to  any  young 
girl  of  good  birth,  for  whom  improvement  by  continental  travel 
may  be  desired.  Terms  moderate,  and  paid  invariably  in  ad- 
vance. References  exchanged. 

By  the  next  post,  Mrs.  O'Shea  and  the  lady  hold- 
ing advanced  ideas  were  in  communication.  They 
interviewed  each  other;  they  exchanged  opinions 
on  the  destiny  of  the  sex  ;  they  exchanged  references. 
After  some  battling,  the  commercial  part  of  the  trans- 
action was  brought  to  a  satisfactory  close,  and  Be- 
linda, sullenly  submissive  to  anything  that  divided 
her  from  Rose,  Brompton,  and  Uncle  Robert,  made 
her  next  great  step  in  life. 

The  name  of  her  new  preceptress  (of  whom  more 
hereafter)  was  Burke,  Miss  Lydia  Burke — a  name 
not  unknown  to  fame  either  in  the  speech-making  or 
book-making  world.  And  under,  or  oftener  without 


A  VAGABOND  HEROINE.  25 

this  lady's  care,  Belinda's  "  culture"  has  been  pro- 
gressing up  to  the  present  time  ;  no  material  change 
occurring  meanwhile  at  Brompton  save  Uncle  Rob- 
ert's death,  which  took  place  about  three  months 
before  the  date  at  which  this  little  history  opens. 
Some  smattering  of  languages  the  girl,  drifting 
hither  and  thither  over  Europe,  has  picked  up ;  some 
music  and  dancing,  of  a  vagrant  kind ;  a  good  deal 
of  premature  acquaintance  with  human  nature :  life, 
opened,  I  fear,  at  somewhat  tattered  pages,  for  her 
class-book ;  neglect,  not  invariably  the  worst  educa- 
tor, for  her  master. 

A  socially  unencumbered  lady,  bent  on  correcting 
the  mistakes  made  by  her  sex  during  the  past  six 
thousand  years,  and  with  the  higher  destinies  of  the 
future  on  her  soul,  could  scarcely  have  time  to  waste 
on  the  training  of  the  one  unimportant  unit  imme- 
diately beneath  her  eyes.  In  few  minds  are  broad- 
ness of  vision  and  capacity  for  small  detail  coexistent. 
The  mind  of  Miss  Lydia  Burke  was  of  the  visionary 
or  far-embracing  order — an  order  quite  beyond  the 
wretched  details  of  lawn  dresses  and  darning  needles. 
]S"ewton  forgot  his  dinner  hour ;  could  a  Miss  Lydia 
Burke  be  expected  to  notice  the  holes — 

But  this  brings  me  back  exactly  to  the  point  at 
which  a  certain  pride  in  my  poor  little  heroine  forced 
me  into  retrospection — the  holes  in  Belinda's  stock- 
ings. 


CHAPTER  II. 

AMBROSIAL   CASH. 

T  is  but  too  obvious  that  they  are  a  haphazard, 
unlawful  pair.  Belinda  darns  not,  neither 
does  she  sew.  Her  clothes  go  uncounted  to 
the  washerwoman,  and  return  or  do  not  return 
as  they  list ;  by  natural  processes  of  selection, 
such  as  are  of  toucher  fibre  than  their  fellows  sur- 

o 

vive  and  come  together  in  the  end,  irrespective  of 
any  primitive  differences  in  color  or  design.  Of 
these  stockings  that  she  now  wears,  one  being  grey, 
the  other  brown,  both  ragged,  it  would  indeed  be 
hard  to  conjecture  the  original  stock  ;  nor  is  their  in- 
congruous effect  lessened  by  a  well-worn  pair  of  the 
sandals  of  the  country,  espargottes,  in  Basque  par- 
lance, linen  slippers,  roughly  embroidered  in  scarlet, 
and  bound  high  above  the  instep  by  worsted  sandals. 
Her  frock  is  of  rusty  black,  texture  indescribable ; 
her  hat  of  unbleached  coarse  straw,  so  battered  out 
of  shape  that  one  must  see  it  on  a  human  head  to 
recognize  it  as  a  hat  at  all.  And  she  wears  her  hair 
in  plaits,  tight,  hideous  plaits,  tied  together  at  the 


A  VAGABOND  HEROINE.  27 

ends,  according  to  the  fashion  of  the  Spanish  peas- 
ants, by  a  piece  of  frayed-out,  once  green  ribbon. 

.Nothing  lovely,  nothing  artistic  even,  about  her. 
Yet  'tis  a  picture  that  a  stranger  of  discriminative 
eye  could  scarce  pass  unnoticed — this  poor  little  girl 
with  her  tattered  frock  and  illicit  stockings,  and  sun- 
burnt, high-bred  face,  audaciously  gay  one  minute  as 
any  Paris  gamin's,  sad  the  next  as  that  of  a  woman 
who  already  has  tasted  the  fruit  of  knowledge  and 
found  it  bitter ! 

Spain  or  Clapham  ?  Raising  herself  lazily  from 
the  sward — such  mixture  of  dust  and  lifeless  stalk  as 
here  in  the  south  we  dignify  by  the  name  of  sward — 
Belinda,  after  several  more  yawns,  draws  forth  from 
her  ragged  pocket  a  letter,  written  on  sea-green  Eng- 
lish note-paper,  that  must  certainly  have  cost  the 
sender  double  postage,  and  in  a  characterless  little 
boarding-school  ladies'  hand  : 

"  My  dearest  Belinda." 

"Dearest — for  her  to  call  me  'dearest'!  when 
papa  himself  used  to  think  '  my  dear  little  girl '  suffi- 
cient. But  Hose  must  be  a  hypocrite,  even  in  writ- 
ing." 

"  You  will  be  surprised,  and  /  hope  pleased,  to 
hear  that  I  am  coming  all  the  way  to  the  south  of 
France  to  see  you.  I  am  sure,  when  I  look  at  St. 
Jean  de  Lnz  on  the  map,  it  quite  takes  my  breath 
away.  I  have  always  had  a  horror  of  the  Bay  of  Bis- 
cay, and  can  never  sleep  in  the  train  as  most  people 
do,  and  then  I  arn  such  a  coward  about  strange  beds ! 
But  of  course  Spencer  will  be  with  me,  and  as  there 


28  A  VAGABOND  HEROINE. 

have  been  several  cases  of  small-pox  close  at  hand, 
and  I  am  so  frightened  abont  it,  Doctor  Pickney  says 
the  wisest  thing  I  can  do  is  to  pack  up  my  boxes  and 
run.  I  have  been  vaccinated  three  times,  and  al- 
though the  doctors  say  not,  I  think  it  always  took  a, 
little.  I  do  hope  there  is  no  small-pox  about  in  the 
south.  If  you  have  not  been  vaccinated  already,  you 
might  get  it  done  as  a  precaution  before  I  arrive.  I 
trust,  dear,  you  will  find  me  looking  pretty  well.  I 
am  in  mourning  still,  but  of  course  slight,  for  poor 
Uncle  Robert  has  been  dead  three  months ;  indeed, 
the  milliners  scold  me  for  wearing  it  any  longer. 
But  I  consult  feeling,  not  fashion,  in  such  things ; 
and  what  can  be  more  becoming  than  pale  lavender 
silk  richly  trimmed,  or  a  white  Sultana  polonaiso 
edged  with  black  velvet  and  a  deep  fringe  !  I  wish 
I  knew  whether  hats  or  bonnets  were  best  style  in 
foreign  watering-places.  I  have  written  to  '  The 
Queen'  to  ask,  but  I  am  afraid  I  shall  not  get  the 
answer  before  I  start.  Nothing  is  seen  in  London 
but  those  large  flat  crowns,  which  never  suited  me ; 
and  the  Dolly  Vardens  have  got  so  dreadfully  com- 
mon !  Really,  as  I  often  say  to  Spencer,  dress  is  one 
long  trial.  Were  it  not  for  those  I  love,  I  would — 
but  this  is  a  subject  on  which  I  dare  not  trust  my- 
self to  speak.  My  dearest  Belinda,  I  shall  have  news 
to  tell  you  when  we  meet,  of  the  most  deeply  inter- 
esting nature,  affecting  the  future  of  us  loth.  I  am 
glad  you  have  made  acquaintance  with  Augustus 
Jones.  He  is  a  prime  favorite  of  mine — indeed,  he 
will  make  me  correspond  with  him — young  meu  are 


A  VAGABOND  HEROINE.  29 

BO  foolish — and,  as  I  tell  them  all,  an  old  woman  like 
me  !  What  you  say  about  his  '  vulgarity '  is  simply 
ridiculous.  How  can  it  matter  whether  his  father 
sold  patent  stoves  or  not  ?  Has  a  young  man  money  ? 
not  How  was  his  money  made  ?  is  the  question  the 
world  asks.  I  only  hope  he  will  be  still  at  St.  Jean 
de  Luz  when  I  arrive,  which  may  be  almost  as  soon 
as  this  letter.  Present  my  compliments  to  our  excel- 
lent friend,  Miss  Burke,  and  believe  me  your  own. 
affectionate  mamma,  ROSE. 

"  P.  S. — Augustus  Jones  has  a  villa  at  Clapham, 
elegantly  furnished — everything  in  the  first  style  !  I 
have  often  dined  there  in  his  father's  time  with  poor 
dear  Uncle  Robert.  Augustus  will  be  an  excellent 
parti,  I  can  assure  you,  Belinda,  for  any  girl  who 
may  be  fortunate  enough  to  win  him." 

Belinda  crushes  the  letter  together  contemptu- 
ously, flings  it  up  twice  or  thrice,  ball  fashion,  into 
the  air,  then  thrusts  it  away,  still  in  its  crumpled 
state,  out  of  sight,  and  lapses  back  into  castle-build- 
ing. 

"Spain  or  Clapham."  Just  as  she  has  for  the 
third  time  asked  herself  this  fateful  question,  an 
Englishman  in  full  afternoon  Hyde  Park  dress 
emerges  from  the  Hotel  d'Isabella,  about  fifty  yards 
distant  from  the  little  place  or  square  where  the  girl 
is  sitting,  and,  espying  her,  approaches. 

The  new-comer  is  young,  florid,  not  distinctly  ill- 
looking  as  far  as  features  go,  but  most  distinctly  vul- 
gar. The  way  he  wears  his  hat,  his  jewelry,  his 
necktie — everything  about  the  man,  in  short — jars  on 


30  A  VAGABOND  HEROINE. 

your  taste,  you  know  not  wherefore.  And  then  he 
is  mosquito  bitten  !  And  mosquito  bites  are  not 
wont  to  improve  the  expression  of  the  features,  or  to 
confer,  even  on  worthier  men  than  Mr.  Jones,  the 
air  of  distinction. 

"  A  villa  at  Ciapham  elegantly  furnished — an  ex- 
cellent parti  for  any  girl  who  may  be  lucky  enough 
to  win  him,"  thinks  Belinda,  as  the  hero  of  her  air- 
built  romance  draws  near.  "  What  a  pity  Rose  does 
not  appropriate  so  much  good  fortune  herself !  I 
must  see  about  making  the  match  up  as  soon  as  I 
get  them  together." 

And  with  this  she  laughs  aloud ;  not  as  young 
ladies  who  have  learned  to  do  all  things  prettily 
laugh,  still  less  as  the  British  school-girl  giggles. 
Shrill  rather,  and  impish,  laughter  savoring  of  mal- 
ice, not  mirth,  is  the  laughter  of  Belinda  O'Shea ! 
Mr.  Jones's  face,  a  spot  of  warm  color  at  all  sea- 
sons, has  grown  to  the  hue  of  a  well-ripened  tomato 
by  the  time  he  reaches  her. 

"  Good  afternoon,  Miss  Belinda.  Upon  my  word, 
you  have  found  out  the  only  bit  of  shade  in  the 
place.  Glad  to  see  you  find  your  own  thoughts  so 
amusing."  Augustus  attempts  the  drawl  of  the  high- 
bred swell,  as  he  has  seen  that  personage  depicted  on 
the  stage  ;  not  with  very  marked  success. 

Belinda  pushes  her  ragged  hat  a  little  further 
back  from  her  forehead,  stretches  out  her  shabby 
sandaled  feet  in  the  dust,  then,  glancing  up  at  Mr. 
Jones  much  as  one  small  boy  glances  at  another  with 


A  VAGABOND  HEROINE.  31 

whom  he  is  inclined  to  quarrel,  but  whose  strength 
he  measures,  begins  to  whistle. 

"  I  thought  yesterday  you  told  me  you  meant  to 
give  up  that — that  slightly  imfeininine  accomplish- 
ment of  yours,"  he  remarks  after  a  minute. 

"  And  I,"  retorts  the  girl,  "  thought  you  prom- 
ised never  again  to  make  use  of  that  shocking  '  Miss 
Belinda.'  If  you  had  pluck  enough  to  say  '  Belinda' 
outright,  I  could  bear  it.  But  as  you  have  not,  and 
as  you  seem  to  think  it  necessary  to  call  me  some- 
thing, do  say  '  Miss  O'Shea.'  You  have  no  idea  how 
caddish  '  Miss  Belinda'  sounds." 

The  tomato  hue  extends  itself  over  poor  Mr. 
Jones's  very  ears  and  neck.  "  Oh  !  For  the  future, 
then,  it's  to  be  '  Belinda'  between  us,  is  it  ?  Only 
too  happy  on  my  part,  I  am  sure.  But  I  must  ask 
one  thing  back."  He  has  taken  a  place  beside  her, 
after  carefully  selecting  a  comparatively  clean  patch 
of  turf  on  which  to  deposit  his  Hyde  Park  splen- 
dor. "  I  must  ask'one  thing  back — that  you  always 
call  me  '  Augustus.' " 

She  looked  at  him  through  and  through  with 
fearless  child's  eyes.  "  '  Augustus ! '  I  hope  you  have 
brought  me  some  maccaroons,  Augustus?  Augus- 
tus, try  not  to  kick  Costa  when  you  think  I  am  not 
looking.  No,  I  could  not.  If  I  saw  you  every  day 
till  I  died,  and  if  I  lived  to  be  a  hundred  years  old, 
I  could  never  call  you  'Augustus.'  I  might  do  it 
once,"  she  corrects  herself,  "half  a  dozen  times,  even, 
if  you  bribed  me  handsomely ;  but  from  my  heart, 
never." 


32  A  VAGABOND  HEROINE. 

"In  other  cases  you  don't  appear  to  feel  much 
shyness  about  doings,"  remarks  Mr.  Jones,  cuttingly. 
"  It  seems  to  me  that  you  call  half  the  English  and 
American  fellows  in  the  place  by  their  Christian 
names." 

"  Ah,  they  are  only  boys,"  says  Belinda,  with  a 
smile  brimful  of  unconscious  coquetry.  "  You  would 
not  have  me  '  mister '  my  chums — the  fellows  I  play 
paume  with — would  you  ? " 

"  I  would  not  have  you  play  '  paume,'  as  you  call 
it,  at  all,"  replies  the  young  man,  in  a  tone  of  delib- 
erate, half-tender  patronage.  "  I  like  a  dash  of  chio 
as  well  as  any  man.'5  I  am  afraid  poor  Augustus 
pronounced  it  chick.  "But  it  must  be  chic  of  the 
right  kind,  bong  tong,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing. 
Now  what — what  should  we  think  in  England  of  a 
girl  who  would  be  seen  playing  fives,  as  you  do,  and 
in  such  company  ? " 

Belinda  shoots  a  sharp  glance  at  him  from  under 
her  long  lashes.  I  forgot  to  mention  that  the  child 
has  long  lashes,  black  as  night,  too,  and  overshadow- 
ing iron-grey  eyes.  "  Not  play  paume,  not  dance 
the  bolero,  not  whistle,  not  take  moonlight  walks 
with  Costa !  What  would  you  have  me  do,  I  should 
like  to  know,  Mr.  Jones  ? '' 

A  London  beauty  of  a  couple  of  seasons'  standing 
could  not  have  brought  an  elder  son  more  neatly  and 
more  innocently  to  the  point.  Mr.  Jones  examines 
the  opera-dancer  who  reposes  in  silver  on  the  end  of 
his  cane,  the  huge  cameo  ring  that  he  wears  upon 
his  little  finger;  then  he  delivers  himself  of  his  sen- 


A  VAGABOND  HEROINE.  33 

timents  thus :  "  I  should  like,  Miss  Belinda — Belinda 
— I  beg  your  pardon,  Miss  O'Shea."1  For  the  life  of 
him,  he  cannot  get  to  the  familiar  Christian  name  as 
she  sits  there  in  her  ragged  frock,  in  her  palpable, 
out- crying  poverty,  and  with  her  little  high-bred  face 
held  aloft,  and  her  dark  eyes  mutely  dissecting  him 
and  his  speech  to  atoms.  "  I  should  like  to  see  }TOU 
the  model  in  all  respects  of  your  mamma.  My  beau 
ideal — I  mean,"  says  Augustus,  suddenly  recalling 
recent  French  lessons  and  struggles  with  French 
genders,  "  iny  belle  ideal  of  everything  most  to  be 
desired  in  an  English  lady  is  Mrs.  O'Shea." 

"Belle  ideal.  "Why  can  you  never  let  a  word 
alone  when  by  extraordinary  accident  you  have  got 
it  right  ? ''  cries  Belinda,  cruelly.  "  Who  ever  heard 
of  a  belle  ideal  ?  Ah,  and  so  my  stepmamma  is  your 
beau  ideal  of  everything  to  be  desired  in  an  English 
lady,  and  you  would  advise  me  to  take  her  as  a 
model  in  all  respects !  Thanks.  Now  I  know  ex- 
actly what  courses  to  avoid  and  imitate.  No  more 
paume? " 

"  Paume  is  the  last  game  I  should  think  an  Eng- 
lish lady  of  tong  would  be  seen  playing,"  says  Mr. 
Augustus  Jones,  oracularly,  and  giving  a  contemptu- 
ous glance  towards  the  schistera  which  lies  at  the 
girl's  side.  A  schistera,  I  should  explain,  is  the 
spoon-shaped  basket  or  hand-shield  with  which 
paume  is  played  in  the  Basque  provinces.  "I  am 
quite  sure  Mrs.  O'Shea  would  think  as  I  do  about 
such  a  game.'' 

"  But  then  you  must  remember,  /  love  it  passion- 
2* 


34  A  VAGABOND  HEROINE. 

atelj,''  cries  Belinda,  "  passionately — to  distraction ! 
What  do  I  care-about  being  lady-like  ?  if  you  could 
play,  yourself,  you  would  not  be  such  a  muff  as  to 
talk  about  *  tong' !  Ah,  the  moment,"  cries  the 
child,  clasping  her  graceful  dark  hands,  "the  mo- 
ment of  moments  when  you  are  twenty  all — the  ball 
with  the  enemy — you  see  it  spinning  through  the 
air — you  know  that  the  game  is  to  be  made  off  your 

own  schistera — you  strike,  you but  of  course," 

breaking  off,  with  mild  pity  of  her  hearer's  ignorance, 
"  of  course  it's  no  use  talking  paume  to  people  who 
don't  understand  paume !  "Well,  then  comes  the 
bolero.  Surely  you  would  allow  me  one  now  and 
then,  Mr.  Jones,  just  between  the  lights,  you  know, 
and  under  the  shadow  of  the  trees  ? " 

"I  don't  mind  the  bolero,  or  fandango,  or  any 
other  of  the  native  cancans,  provided  they  are  danced 
by  the  right  people,"  answers  Mr.  Jones  with  his 
drawl.  "  Quite  the  reverse.  When  one  of  these 
Basque  peasant  wenches  has  gone  through  her  bar- 
barous gesticulations,  and  brings  me  her  tin  cup  for 
pavment,  I  put  my  sous  into  it  with  all  the  pleasure 
in  life." 

Belinda's  eyes  flashed  daggers  at  him.  "I  can- 
not imagine  your  giving  a  sou  to  any  one  on  any 
occasion  with  pleasure,"  she  exclaims  with  spiteful 
emphasis.  "  And  you  speak  as  you  do  because  you 
know  no  better !  You  don't  understand  the  peasants 
or  their  dances^  You  measure  everything  by  your 
own  Claphp.m  tastes,  sir!  However,  we  will  not 
argufy."  The  reader  is  asked  to  pardon  this  and 


A  VAGABOND  HEROINE.  35 

other  linguistic  peculiarities  on  the  part  of  Belinda. 
"I  have  my  ideas,  you  yours,  and  no  doubt  Rose 
will  back  you  up  in  them  when  she  is  here.  You 
did  not  know,  by  the  by,  that  my  mamma  was  com- 
ing to  St.  Jean  do  Luz,  did  you,  Mr.  Jones?" 

Mr.  Jones  hesitates.  Talleyrand's  advice  as  to 
not  following  one's  first  impulse  for  fear  it  should  be 
a  good  one,  is,  although  I  dare  say  he  never  heard 
of  Talleyrand,  a  first  principle  with  this  excellent 
young  man.  Prudence,  distrust,  disbelief  in  impulse 
of  all  kinds,  rather  than  special  genius  for  the  devel- 
opment of  kitchen  grates,  raised  Mr.  Jones,  senior, 
inch  by  inch,  from  a  shakedown  beneath  the  counter 
to  a  Clapham  villa  and  liveries.  Prudence,  distrust, 
disbelief  in  impulse  are  qualities  born  and  nurtured 
in  the  very  life-blood  of  the  son. 

"Rose  corresponds  with  you,  I  know,"  cries 
Belinda,  scanning  his  face.  "  Don't  be  ashamed  of 
your  little  weaknesses,  Mr.  Jones.  '  Young  men  are 
so  foolish,'  as  Rose  says.  I  can  see  you  know,  juss 
as  well  as  I  do,  that  my  stepmarnma  is  coming  to  St. 
Jean  de  Luz." 

"  Well,  yes,  I  know  that  Mrs.  O'Shea  is  coming 
here,  certainly,"  says  Augustus,  deliberation  having 
shown  him,  perhaps,  that  to  tell  the  truth  can  for 
once  cost  nothing'  "  Indeed,  I  had  a  few  lines  from 

o  * 

her,  written  from  Paris,  by  to-day's  post.  I  have  her 
letter  in  my  pocket,"  where,  however,  he  has  the 
discretion  to  let  it  rest.  "  As  far  as  I  can  make  out, 
we  shall  have  the  pleasure  of  seeing  Mrs.  O'Shea 
and  Captain  Temple  arrive  this  evening." 


36  A  VAGABOND  HEROINE. 

Up  rushes  the  crimson  in  a  flood  over  Belinda's 
face.  "  Captain  Temple !  I  don't  know  what  you 
mean  by  Captain  Temple ! "  she  exclaims,  suspect- 
ing what  he  means  only  too  well,  and  coloring  with 
hot  shame  over  her  own  suspicions.  "Rose  is  com- 
ing here  alone  with  her  maid,  of  course." 

"  Oh,  of  course ! "  repeats  Augustus,  with  the 
slow,  affected  drawl  that  irritates  Belinda  to  such 
desperation.  "  I  don't  for  a  moment  mean  that  Mrs. 
O'Shea,  under  these  or  any  other  circumstances, 
would  act  otherwise  than  with  the  most  lady-like 
propriety.  Still,  when  one  considers  everything,  Miss 
Belinda,  there  is  no  great  wonder  in  Captain  Tem- 
ple happening  to  travel  in  the  south  of  France,  and 
in  this  particular  district  of  the  south  of  France,  just 
at  the  time  when  Mrs.  O'Shea  and  her  maid  happen 
to  travel  here  too  ! " 

His  smile,  his  tone,  a  sudden  scorching  remem- 
brance of  certain  lachrymose  allusions  in  more  than 
one  of  Rose's  recent  letters,  bring  Belinda  from  sus- 
picion to  certainty. 

"  If  I  thought — if  I  could  believe  such  a  thing ! " 
she  exclaims,  then  stops  short,  both  sunburnt  tista 
tight  clenched,  her  lips  set  together  like  a  small 
fury's. 

"  If  you  could  believe  that  two  people  who  loved 
each  other  in  their  youth — I  conclude  you  have 
heard  the  romantic  story  before  this  ? — if  you  could 
believe  that  two  people  who  were  in  love  with  each 
other  some  dozen  or  more  years  ago,  were  fated  to 
marry  and  be  happy  at  last,  what  then  ? "  asks  Au- 


A  VAGABOND  HEROINE.  37 

gustus.  "  Mrs.  O'Shea's  marrying  again  would  not 
interfere  with  your  life  much,  as  far  as  I  can  see." 

"  If  Rose  marries  again,  I  swear  never  to  speak 
to  her  or  to  her  husband  while  I  live,"  cries  Belinda 
tempestuously.  "  I  will  not  believe  such  disgraceful 
news  until  she  tells  it  me  with  her  own  lips ;  and  I 
have  not  the  very  smallest  curiosity  in  the  matter. 
Is  he  dark  or  fair  ?  Good  heavens,  are  you  dumb, 
Mr.  Jones?  What  kind  of  man,  I  ask  you,  is  this 
miserable  Captain  Temple  '\ " 

"  Roger  Temple  is  fair — yellow  rather,  all  these 
Indian  fellows  are  alike ;  shuts  his  eyes  at  you  as  he 
speaks — deuced  nasty  trick  for  a  man  to  shut  his 
eyes  at  you  as  he  speaks.  1  met  him  once  or  twice 
dining  at  your  mamma's  before  I  left  town,  and  we 
had  not  two  words  to  say  to  each  other.  I  don't 
care  for  your  'haw-haw,'  Dundreary,  army  men," 
says  Augustus.  ''  Too  much  of  the  shop  about  them 
for  my  taste." 

"  Too  much  of  what  for  your  taste  ? "  asked  Be- 
linda, with  profound  disdain.  Ah,  was  not  the  only 
human  being  she  ever  loved  of  this  same  Dundreary, 
army  genus  as  Captain  Temple ! 

"  Too  much  of  the  shop — their  shop.  Too  much 
patronage  of  other  fellows  whose  line  doesn't  happen, 
to  be  in  ramrods  and  pipeclay  like  their  own.'x 

"  And  I,"  says  the  girl,  stoutly,  "  love  soldiers, 
and  if  ever  I  marry  anybody  it  shall  be  a  soldier. 
How  different  you  and  I  are  in  everything — differ- 
ence of  the  blood,  I  suppose  !  "We  O'Sheas  are  a 
fighting  family.  Two  great-uncles  of  mine  fell  side 


38  A  VAGABOND  HEROINE. 

by  side  across  the  hills  there,  at  Badajoz" — she  indi- 
cates by  a  nod  of  her  head  the  distant  ridge  of  Span- 
ish Pyrenees — "and  my  papa  was  a  soldier,  and, 
though  it  happened  he  never  came  in  for  foreign  ser- 
vice, did  a  great  many  brave  acts,  I  can  tell  you,  dur- 
ing the  diiferent  riots  and  electioneerings  in  Ireland. 

O  O 

Most  likely  you  have  no  connection  with  the  army, 
Mr.  Jones?" 

None,  excepting  a  maternal  nncle  who  was  an 
army  tailor,  Mr.  Jones  might  answer,  if  he  had  a 
mind  to  speak  the  truth.  He  waives  the  question 
adroitly  enough,  however,  by  returning  to  the  mat- 
ter in  hand.  "  "Well,  then,  as  you  are  so  fond  of  the 
fighting  profession,  Miss  O'Shea,  you  will  have  an 
additional  reason  for  loving  your  new  papa." 

Belinda  snatches  up  the  schistera  which  lies  at 
her  side,  and  for  a  moment  aifairs  look  threatening. 
Not  much  more  provocation,  evidently,  would  it  need 
to  fire  the  warlike  blood  of  the  O'Sheas  that  runs  in 
her  veins. 

"  I — I  was  going  to  ask  you  to  come  down  to 
Harrambour's,"  says  Mr.  Jones,  springing  up  hastily 
to  his  feet.  "Don't  be  angry  with  me,  Belinda!'' 
He  can  call  her  Belinda  at  the  safe  distance  that  sep- 
arates them  now.  "  And  let  us  make  all  our  differ- 
ences up  over  some  maccaroons." 

Every  man,  says  the  cynic,  has  his  price.  Be- 
linda's price,  as  a  very  short  acquaintance  has  taught 
Mr.  Jones,  is  maccaroons^  Sweet  stuff  generally 
may  be  said  to  be  Belinda's  price  in  the  present 
scraggy,  unfledged  stage  of  her  moral  life.  Angel 


A  VAGABOND  HEROINE.  39 

hair — cdbella  de  angel — frozen  apricots,  chocolate 
creams,  every  varied  confection,  half-French,  half- 
Spanish,  with  which  the  shops  of  St.  Jean  de  Luz 
abound,  is  dear  to  her.  But,  above  all,  she  adores 
maccaroons ;  the  specialty  of  the  place,  as  history 
shows,  even  back  to  the  days  when  the  Great  Napo- 
leon and  the  English  Duke  successively  lodged  here. 
And  then  she  is  so  absolutely  penniless  !  The  mis- 
erable pittance  which  comes  to  her  quarterly,  after 
Miss  Burke  has  swallowed  the  lion's  share  of  her 
small  income — the  quarterly  pittance,  I  say,  which  is 
vouchsafed  to  her  for  dress,  postage,  pocket-money, 
confectionery,  goes  so  piteously  soon — leaves  her  so 
absolutely  insolvent  when  it  is  gone ! 

A  child  of  seventeen,  without  a  sou  in  the  world 
for  maccaroons,  and  an  Augustus  Jones,  his  pockets 
lined  with  British  bank-notes,  ready  to  buy  them  for 
her!  Does  it  require  a  very  profound  knowledge  of 
human  nature  to  foresee  how  things  are  likely  to  end 
— unless,  indeed,  some  other  actor,  offering  some- 
thing sweeter  than  maccaroons,  chance  to  cross  the 
stage  of  Belinda's  little  life-drama ! 

She  hesitates,  relents,  and  a  minute  later  they 
have  quitted  the  Place,  and  are  making  their  way 
down  the  principal  street  of  the  town  toward  the 
maccaroon  shop.  St.  Jean  de  Luz  is  taking  its 
wonted  afternoon  siesta  at  this  hour.  The  awned 
balconies  are  deserted;  the  very  churches,  filled 
morning  and  evening  to  overflowing,  with  fans, 
prayer-books,  and  flirtatious,  are  empty.  A  bullock- 
dray  or  two  are  to  be  seen  in  the  market-place,  the 


40  A  VAGABOND  HEROINE. 

bullocks  in  their  brown  liolland  blouses  patiently 
blinking,  with  bullock  philosophy,  at  existence,  the 
drivers  asleep  within  the  wineshops.  A  team  ot 
close-shorn  Spanish  mules  stand,  viciously  whisking 
at  the  flies  with  their  rat  tails,  in  the  shade;  the 
muleteer,  his  face  prone  to  mother  earth,  reposes  beside 
them.  Other  living  forms  are  there  none,  save  an 
occasional  half-broiled  Murray-guided  Briton,  and 
five  or  six  ghostly  cur-dogs — the  cur-dogs  at  St.  Jean 
de  Luz  never  sleep.  It  being  low  water,  the  river- 
mouth  and  harbor  are  sending  forth  "  liberal  smells 
of  all  the  sunburned  South."  The  distant  mountain 
sides  are  absolutely  painful  to  the  eye  in  their  shade- 
less  ochre  yellow.  Heat,  as  if  a  very  rain  of  fire, 
quivering,  piercing,  intolerable,  is  everywhere. 

And  Mr.  Jones  does  not  bear  heat  gracefully. 
By  the  time  they  reach  the  maccaroon  shop  Mr. 
Jones  is  in  a  state  of  evaporation  made  visible,  and 
anathematizes  the  climate,  pavement,  scenery,  peo- 
ple, all  in  the  very  ugliest  cockney  vernacular,  and 
with  the  ugliest  cockney  ignorance. 

"  He  is  horribly,  horribly  vulgar ! "  thinks  Be- 
linda, as  she  bites  her  maccaroons  and  glances  from 
beneath  her  eyelashes  at  the  dewy,  blistered,  mos- 
quito-scarred face  of  her  companion.  "  If  maccaroons 
were  only  attainable  through  any  other  means  !  " 

Which  they  are  not.  And  the  maccaroons  are 
super-excellent,  fresh  made  this  morning ;  and  after 
the  maccaroons  come  a  vanilla  ice,  and  a  chocolate 
cream,  and  more  maccaroons!  And  then — of  so 
generous  a  temper  is  Augustus  this  afternoon — then 


A  VAGABOND  HEROINE.  4-1 

they  adjourn  from  the  shop  to  the  refreshing  shade 
of  the  awning  outside,  and  Belinda  is  told  to  call  for 
whatever  cooling  drink  she  chooses,  while  Mr.  Jones 
(who  holds  the  firmest  English  belief  as  to  alcohol 
and  a  thermometer  at  a  hundred  and  ten  in  the 
shade  going  well  together)  orders  himself — oh,  in 
what  execrable  French — a  brandy  and  seltzer,  and 
prepares  to  smoke  a  cigar  at  her  side. 

A  bizarre  love-making,  it  may  be  said,  in  which 
the  lady's  favor  is  to  be  won  by  lollypops.  But  any 
one  who  keeps  his  eyes  open  must  know  that  what 
we  call  the  bizarre  differences  of  life  are  on  the  sur- 
face, merest  accidental  diversity  of  local  coloring ; 
human  nature  being  much  the  same  whatever  dress 
she  wears,  whatever  quarter  of  the  globe  she  inhabits. 
If  Augustus  Jones  were  courting  some  full-grown 
London  Belinda,  his  offerings  would  have  to  be  of 
bracelets,  certainly — bracelets,  opera  tickets,  bou- 
quets, as  the  case  might  be,  instead  of  sweet  stuff'. 
And  who,  I  should  like  to  know,  would  consider  that 
bizarre ! 

Mr.  Jones  smokes  his  cigar ;  Belinda  sips  her  iced 
orangeade,  Spanish  fashion,  through  a  barquilo,  be- 
side him  ;  and  so  a  drowsy  hour  glides  away.  Then 
the  sun  slips  westward  behind  the  toppling  old  scar- 
let-roofed, many-storied  houses  that  form  the  seaboard 
of  St.  Jean  de  Luz,  and  comparative  coolness  begins 
to  make  itself  felt  in  the  streets.  Little  by  little 
shutters  open ;  sleepy  faces  peep  out  on  balconies ; 
the  bullock  drivers  come  lazily  forth  from  the  wine 
shops;  the  muleteer  rises  as  far  as  his  elbow,  rubs 


42  A  VAGABOND  HEROINE. 

his  handsome  eyes,  swears  a  little  at  his  mules,  crosses 
himself,  and  folds  a  cigarrito.  The  world  is  awak- 
ening. 

"And  I  must  be  off,"  says  Belinda,  jumping  up 
as  the  clocks  of  the  town  strike  tire.  "  We  are  all 
in  for  a  match  of  paume  as  soon  as  the  sun  is  off  the 
upper  Place." 

"  '  We' !  and  who  are  '  we'  ? "  asks  Mr.  Jones, 
with  a  tender  smile.  The  brandy  and  seltzer  has 
softened  him — but,  unfortunately,  tender  smiles  lose 
half  their  effect  when  they  are  associated  with  mos 
quito  bites ! 

"  Oh,  the  usual  party,  Jack  Alston  and  Tom  and 
me  against  the  two  Washingtons  and  Maurice  la 
Ferte.  Who  will  you  back  ?  You  must  not  judge 
by  what  you  saw  last  night.  Jack  Alston  and  I  can 
beat  the  lot  when  we  play  our  best." 

"  I  should  like  to  bet  that  you  will  let  Mr.  Jack 
Alston  and  his  friends  play  their  match  without 
you."  And  now  Augustus  rises,  now  the  mosquito- 
bitten  face  is  affectionately,  horribly  near  Belinda's. 
"  I  should  like  to  think  that  you  care  just  enough  for 
me,  Miss  O'Shea,  to  give  all  these  fellows,  up  for 
once,  if  I  ask  you  !  " 

II  is  tone  is  more  earnest  than  Belinda  has  ever 
heard  it  yet,  and  she  wavers,  or  appears  to  waver. 
The  remembrance  of  maccaroons  that  are  past,  the 
hope  of  maccaroons  that  are  to  come ;  vanity  grat- 
ified by  a  full-grown  man,  an  Augustus  Jones  though 
he  be,  taking  so  deep  an  interest  in  her  affairs — all 
these  considerations,  and  perhaps  something  a  little 


A  VAGABOND  HEROINE.  43 

deeper  than  these,  sway  the  girl,  and  she  wavers, 
easts  down  her  eyelashes,  plays  irresolutely  with  the 
strings  of  her  schistera. 

u  You  will  promise  me  to  play  no  more  at  that 
confounded  game,  either  this  evening  or  any  other 
evening !  "  whispers  Augustus  with  growing  em- 
phasis. 

Another  moment,  and  Belinda  will  certainly  have 
committed  herself — Heaven  knows  to  what  com- 
promising renunciations !  But  even  as  the  words  rise 
to  her  lips,  an  unexpected  ally,  against  Mr.  Jones 
and  on  the  side  of  paume-playing,  bolero-dancing, 
and  all  the  other  sweet,  unlawful  pleasures  of  her 
vagabond  life,  appears  on  the  scene. 

"  Costa,  why  Costa,  old  boy,  where  have  yon 
been  all  day  ?  Down,  sir,  down.  When  will  you 
learn  that  Mr.  Jones  does  not  value  your  atten- 
tions?" 

Costa  is  a  grand-looking  old  Spanish  hound,  not 
altogether  of  purest  breed,  perhaps,  but  a  noble  brute 
despite  the  blot  upon  his  escutcheon,  possessing 
much  of  his  nation's  grave  dignity  of  demeanor,  and 
a  face  brimful  of  fine  dog  intellect  and  feeling.  You 
may  see  such  a  head  as  Costa's  beside  the  knee  of 
more  than  one  of  Velasquez's  portraits. 

His  acquaintance  with  Belinda  came  about  hap- 
hazard— as  everything  seems  to  come  about  in  the 
girl's  haphazard  life. 

Some  Madrid  hidalgo  to  whom  the  poor  brute 
belonged  happening  to  be  called  away  to  Paris  to- 
ward the  close  of  last  summer's  bathing  season,  the 


44  A  VAGABOND  HEROINE. 

dog,  with  true  Spanish  indifference,  was  left  upon 
the  streets  of  St.  Jean  de  Luz  to  starve.  For  a  time 
he  kept  body  and  soul — what  poor  dog  soul  was  in 
him — together  as  best  he  might ;  his  lean  carcass 
daily  becoming  leaner,  kicks  and  blows  from  house- 
wives who  found  him  unlawfully  prowling  .about 
their  doorsteps  more  frequent.  At  last  a  bone  or 
two  came  through  the  skin ;  the  creature's  strength 
was  gone — just  enough  left  to  drag  himself  painfully 
along  the  gutters  and  look  up  with  wistful,  hungry 
supplication  in  the  faces  of  the  passers-by. 

And  so  Belinda  found  him — Belinda,  as  it 
chanced,  flush  of  money,  her  quarter's  pittance  just 
paid,  and  on  her  road  at  that  moment  to  the  macca- 
roon  shop,  with  all  the  lightness  of  spirit  a  full  purse 
begets. 

"  What,  Costa,  my  friend ! "  She  knew  the  dog 
and  his  name  well ;  had  admired  him  often  in  his 
palmier  days,  striding  majestically  along  at  the  hi- 
dalgo his  master's  heels.  "  Costa,  my  old  friend,  have 
you  come  to  this?  Has  that  T>rute  left  you  alone 
here  to  starve  ?  " 

She  forgot  the  maccaroons ;  she  took  Costa  round 
to  the  butcher's  market,  and  she  gave  him  to  eat ; 
would  have  had  him  home  and  sheltered  him  but  for 
Miss  Burke's  stern  opposition.  "It  would  better 
befit  Belinda's  immortal  soul  to  take  thought  of  the 
regeneration  of  humanity  than  be  occupied  with  the 
life  or  death  of  a  miserable  cur-dog.  A  knock  on  the 
head  and  a  plunge  into  the  Nivelle  were  the  greatest 
mercy  in  such  a  case.  Miss  Burke,  for  her  part, 


A  VAGABOND  HEROINE.  45 

would  not  mind  hiring  some  man  or  boy  to  perform 
the  deed,  and — " 

"  At  jour  peril  you  get  Costa  murdered  ! "'  cried 
Belinda,  with  tragical,  mutinous  eyes.  "  Deny  him 
shelter  if  you  like.  He  must  lodge  as  the  beggars 
lodge,  at  least  till  winter  comes,  and  I  will  feed  him. 
What  do  I  care  for  humanity  ?  I  love  the  dog ! 
And  as  for  you — hire  an  assassin,  make  yourself  ac- 
complice in  a  murder,  madam,  at  your  peril!" 
Thus  doubly  saving  Costa's  life,  of  such  slender  value 
as  the  poor  life  was ! 

And  the  creature  repaid  her  with  that  absolute, 
blind,  unstinted  gratitude  that  is  one  of  the  cardinal 
dog  virtues — shall  we  say  an  exclusive  dog  virtue  ? 
Without  a  word  of  explanation  he  understood  the 
delicacy  of  the  relations  between  himself  and  Miss 
Burke,  yet,  for  Belinda's  sake,  never  betrayed  his 
knowledge  otherwise  than  by  a  stealthy,  ghastly  roll 
of  the  eye  or  grin  of  the  upper  lip  in  that  lady's  pres- 
ence. Of  a  morning  he  would  sit,  demure  of  de- 
meanor as  a  bishop,  outside  the  gateway  of  Miss 
Burke's  lodgings,  waiting  for  the  light  step  of  his  lit- 
tle benefactress,  but  shifting  his  quarters  instantly, 
and  with  an  air  of  the  most  pharisaic  innocence,  if 
Miss  Burke  chanced  to  appear  instead  of  Belinda. 
At  night  he  wqjild  guard  the  girl  faithfully  to  the 
door  of  her  home,  but  never,  no,  not  even  if  Belinda 
in  play  invited  him  thereto,  would  cross  the  thresh- 
old. If  it  were  possible  for  the  quality  of  self-respect 
to  exist  in  a  dog's  heart,  one  would  say  this  gaunt, 
forsaken  Spanish  hound  possessed  it. 


46  A  VAGABOND  HEROINE. 

Self-respect,  gratitude,  love !  I  seem  to  be  mak- 
ing a  tolerably  long  list  of  Costa's  virtues ;  but  he 
liad  vices  enough  to  counterbalance  them.  Society 
generally  looked  upon  him  as  an  abandoned,  thievish 
2'eprobate,  and  with  good  reason ;  society  always  has 
good  reason  for  its  condemnatory  verdict.  How 
could  it  be  otherwise?  How  could  Costa,  supperless, 
houseless,  live  the  decent  Philistine  life  that  had 
been  so  easy  to  him  in  the  well-fed  days  of  the  hi- 
dalgo his  master  ? 

As  long  as  Belinda's  funds  lasted,  he  ate  meat ; 
•when  these  failed  he  had  such  crusts  and  scraps  as 
the  girl  could  save  from  her  own  meals  and  carry 
away,  unseen  by  Miss  Burke,  in  her  pocket.  But 
crusts  and  scraps  were  not  enough  for  Costa's  sus- 
tenance. He  must  be  dishonest  or  die.  And  (some 
Christians  have  felt  the  same)  he  preferred  being 
dishonest.  In  his  youth  he  had  been  trained  as  a 
sporting  dog,  and  in  all  the  pride  of  untempted  vir- 
tue had  held  by  the  code  of  honor  of  his  peers,  the 
arbitrary  code  which  brands  the  slaughter  of  a  barn- 
door fowl  with  indelible  disgrace.  But  with  other 
times,  other  manners.  If  nobility  oblige,  how  much 
more  so  does  an  empty  stomach !  Some  lingering 
scruples,  some  remnants  of  the  old  finer  sentiments, 
Costa  had  to  get  over ;  at  first  woiJd  only  scare  his 
victims,  next  pursue  them,  but  not  kill.  At  last, 
one  autumn  twilight,  hunger  sharp,  Belinda,  I  regret 
to  say,  witness  of  the  crime,  he  murdered  a  fat  old 
hen  asleep  upon  her  roost,  devoured,  enjoyed  her  to 


A  VAGABOND  HEROINE.  47 

her  very  feathers,  and  murdered  conscience  with  the 
act. 

The  downward  path  lay  smooth  enough  before 
Costa  now.  No  man,  it  is  remarked,  becomes  so 
finished  a  scamp  as  your  scamp  who  was  a  gentle- 
man once.  The  rule  is  not  without  its  parallel  as 
regards  the  demoralization  of  do^s.  Where  an  ordi- 

O  O 

nary  cur  would  have  committed  his  highway  thefts 
or  murders  in  a  gross  sort  of  bungling  way,  certain 
of  instant  detection,  Costa,  aided  by  a  hundred  re 
membrances  of  his  old  greenwood  craft,  got  through 
the  work  like  an  artist.  He  became  "  suspect,"  as 
you  may  imagine.  Not  a  housewife  within  a  couple 
of  miles  of  St.  Jean  de  Luz  but  knew  him  by  sight 
or  by  reputation.  And  still  he  lived.  These  south- 
ern people  combine  with  the  most  absolute  callous- 
ness as  to  animal  suffering  a  curious  superstition  as 
to  taking  animal  life.  They  will  see  a  starving  dog 
die  inch  by  inch,  rather  than  knock  him  on  the 
head ;  will  bury  an  obnoxious  cat  alive,  not  drown 
her.  Costa  lived — a  disreputable,  idle,  lawless  ex- 
istence enough — but  with  fidelity,  love,  gratitude 
to  the  little  girl  that  had  saved  him  ever  strength, 
ening. 

So  different  of  its  kind  is  the  deterioration  of 
dog  nature  from  that  of  man. 

AVlien  Belinda  was  out  late  at  night,  as  too  often 
happened,  Costa,  with  the  strength. and  will  to  pull 
down  half  a  dozen  Carlists  at  a  time,  would  keep 
sentry  by  her  side ;  when  she  was  playing  paume 
among  her  not-too-gentle  comrades,  would  sit,  wink- 


48  A  VAGABOND  HEROINE. 

ing  his  eyes  with  an  air  of  dignified  superiority,  in 
the  shade,  not  interesting  himself  in  the  frivolous 
details  of  the  game,  but  ready  at  any  time,  should 
dispute  arise,  to  put  himself  forward  as  judge  and 
executor  of  the  law  on  Belinda's  side.  He  knew 
when  the  child  was  glad  or  sorry,  rich  or  poor.  He 
knew  her  enemies,  knew  her  friends ;  and  from  the 
first  moment  of  meeting  till  the  present  one,  had 
cast  ugly  looks  at  the  calves  of  Augustus  Jones's 
legs! 

"  Try  not  to  be  frightened,  Mr.  Jones,"  says 
Belinda,  glancing  maliciously  at  the  expression  of 
her  admirer's  face.  "  Perhaps  he  won't  bite  if  you 
keep  very  quiet.  Dogs  know  so  well  when  people 
are  afraid  of  them !  Have  you  come  for  maccaroons, 
my  old  Costa,  eh  ?  You  have,  have  you  ?  Mr.  Jones, 
Costa  says  he  has  come  for  maccaroons."  It  may  be 
observed  that  Belinda  has  not  a  grain  of  false  pride 
on  the  score  of  begging  alms  for  her  friends.  "  Costa 
has  come  for  maccaroons,  and  I  have  not  a  single  sou 
left  in  the  world ! " 

She  stoops  down,  and  with  one  arm  bent  fondly 
round  the  old  dog's  neck,  looks  up,  with  the  prettiest 
beseeching  air  imaginable,  at  Augustus  Jones.  But 
Jones  buttons  up  his  pockets.  He  is  not  altogether 
a  miser,  as  different  sections  of  the  London  world 
have  practically  learned ;  will  spend  money  freely 
enough  on  riding-horses,  bracelets,  opera  stalls, 
churches  that  need  showy  \vindows,  philanthropic 
effort  that  publishes  printed  lists ;  on  his  vices,  his 
virtues  his  anything.  But  maccaroons  for  a  dog ! 


A  VAGABOND  HEROINE.  49 

This  absolute  waste,  this  simple  flinging  of  money 
for  the  sake  of  flinging  it  into  the  sea,  Mr.  Jones 
cannot  stand.  Looking  upon  the  folly  as  a  specula- 
tive investment,  means  to  a  possible  end,  'twere 
different.  "  You  desire  to  marry  yourself,  as  you 
consider,  well,"  could  some  voice  whisper  to  him; 
"  the  ambition  of  your  heart  has  been  ever  to  wed 
your  gold  to  aristocratic  blood ;  and  despairing  of 
better  chances,  you  would  fain  win  this  out-at-elbows 
little  Arab,  the  granddaughter  of  the  great  Earl  of 
Liskeard,  for  your  wife.  Humor  her  whims,  even 
this  present  babyish  one,  if  you  would  hope  to  suc- 
ceed " — could  Mr.  Jones  realize  this  as  truth,  the 
maccaroons  were  Costa's.  But  he  does  not  realize 
it.  He  is  devoid  alike  of  sympathy  and  of  tact ; 
qualities,  both  of  them,  springing  from  imagination, 
not  reason ;  and  goes  no  further  than  his  own  lights 
illume  the  path.  He  detests  all  dogs,  detests  Costa 
in  particular  with  the  bitterest  hatred,  that  which 
springs  from  fear.  And,  as  I  have  said,  Mr.  Jones 
buttons  up  his  pockets. 

"  Maccaroons  for  Costa ! "  repeats  Belinda,  stretch- 
ing out  to  him  a  little  suppliant  sun-burned  palm. 
"  JS^ot  like  them  ?  You  should  see  whether  he  likes 
them!  Try  the  experiment.  Why,  when  Maria 
Jose  was  here,  we  gave  him  two  francs'  worth  all  at 
once,  and  he  ate  them  up  before  you  could  say  '  Jack 
Robinson.' ': 

"  Did  he  indeed ! "  says  Augustus,  looking  dis- 
gusted, whether  at  the  allusion  to  a  rival  or  at  the 
vulgarity  of  Belinda,  who  shall  say  ?  "  Then  the 
3 


50  A  VAGABOND  HEROINE. 

only  thing  I  can  remark  is,  I  am  sorry  Mr.  Maria 
Jose  had  not  better  sense  than  to  waste  his  money 
on  such  absurdity.'' 

Quitting  her  hold  on  Costa,  Belinda  starts  to  her 
feet,  and  stands  upright  and  determined  before  Au- 
gustus; her  small  child's  face  flaming  red  as  any 
pomegranate  flower.  "Mr,  Jones,"  she  exclaims, 
"  if  I  asked  you  to  give  Costa  two  francs'  worth  of 
maccaroons  at  this  moment,  do  you  mean  to  tell  me 
you  would  not  do  it  ? " 

"  I  should  prefer  giving  the  money  to  the  first 
worthy  object  of  commiseration  who  happened  to 
pass  along  the  street,"  Mr.  Jones  answers,  didacti- 
cally. 

"  Will  you  give  Costa  one  franc's  worth  of  mac- 
caroons, now,  this  instant  ? " 

"  I — I  never  heard  of  feeding  a  dog  on  macca- 
roons ;  I  think  it  a  doosed  ridiculous  waste  of  money," 
stutters  Jones,  without  offering  to  put  his  hand  into 
his  pocket.  "I  can  be  as  liberal  as  most  people, 
Miss  Belinda,  on  the  right  occasion  ;  but  if  I  have  a 
predilection,  and  a  very  strong  one,  too,  it's  against 
seeing  good  money  \vasted." 

Belinda  looks  at  him,  from  his  mosquito-bitten 
forehead  down  to  the  tips  of  his  Bond-street  boots ; 
looks  at  him,  with  those  clear  eyes  of  hers,  not  only 
up  and  down  bodily,  but  morally  through  and 
through. 

"  Oh !  I  understand.  I  know  now  why  Costa 
hated  yon  from  the  first.  Dogs  are  not  such  fools. 
If  you  have  a  predilection,  you  say,  'tis  against  see- 


A  VAGABOND  HEROINE.  51 

ing  good  money  wasted.  If  I  have  a  predilection, 
and  a  very  strong  one,  too,  'tis  for  wasting  it. 
Money — ball !  what  is  money  ?  So  many  dirty  bits 
of  silver,  stamped  with  this  head  or  that,  and  good 
just  for  the  quantity  of  sweet  stuff  it  will  bring  you. 
To  spend,  to  waste,  to  scatter  money  to  the  winds,  is 
one  of  my  predilections :  paume-playing,  bolero-danc- 
ing, liberty — sweet  liberty — are  the  others !  And  I 
am  no  more  likely  to  change  in  my  opinions  than 
yon  are  in  yours.  Good-by,  Mr.  Jones." 

She  turns  on  her  heel,  and,  swinging  her  schistera 
to  and  fro,  in  a  way  to  shock  Mr.  Jones'  nicest  sus- 
ceptibilities, walks  off;  Costa,  his  head  well  erect,  as 
though  he  felt  himself  master  of  the  situation,  at  her 
side. 


CHAPTER  III. 

LIGHT   WEDDED,    LIGHT   WIDOWED. 

T.  JEAN  DE  LUZ  is  awakening  from  its 
afternoon  siesta ;  by  the  time,  an  hour  later, 
that  the  Paris  train  arrives,  every  nook,  every 
corner  of  the  quaint  little  Basque  town  is  full 
of  life  and  color.  Castilian  nurses,  in  the  gay  scarlet 
bodices  and  silver  buttons  of  their  order,  are  airing 
olive-faced  babies  in  the  Place;  water-sellers,  with 
their  sing-song  "  Agua  •  quien  quiere  agua?" 
throng  the  streets  ;  men  smoking  their  final  cigarrito 
before  dinner  are  to  be  seen  under  the  awnings  of 
the  different  cafes.  The  younger  women  are  ogling 
from  behind  their  fans,  the  old  ones  resuming  their 
eternal  tresillo  on  the  balconies.  Smoking,  flirting, 
and  card-playing — in  short,  the  three  great  occupa- 
tions of  Spanish  life — going  on  actively.  And  St. 
Jean  de  Luz,  at  the  height  of  its  brief  bathing 
season,  is  as  completely  Spanish  as  any  town  in  the 
Peninsula;  the  natives  vanishing  like  mice  into  cel- 
lars and  attics  the  moment  good  Spanish  dollars  can 
be  got  in  exchange  for  their  first  and  second  floors. 


A  VAGABOND  HEROINE.  53 

As  six  o'clock  strikes,  a  carriage  draws  up,  with 
the  extra  flourishing  of  whips  indicative  of  new  arri- 
vals to  be  fleeced,  before  the  Grand  Hotel  Isabella. 
Waiters,  chambermaids,  mine  host  himself,  all  come 
out,  salaaming,  to  secure  their  prey ;  and  forth  steps 
an  elegant  fool  of  the  very  first  water — English,  and 
of  the  sex  whose  helplessness  is  its  charm — upon  the 
pavement.  A  clothes-artist  might  know  that  this 
fair  creature  is  dressed  in  what  the  profession  have 
agreed  to  call  "  slight  mourning."  To  the  uninitia- 
ted eye  her  attire,  a  cunningly-devised  combination 
of  white  and  lilac,  is  suggestive  of  no  other  grief 
than  the  despairing  envy  of  all  other  women  who 
may  behold  it,  and  the  absolute  collapse  and  annihi- 
lation of  man. 

"  Mes  bagages — ou  est  mes  ~bagages  f  "  sighs  a 
soft  voice  in  that  curious  language  known  as  French 
in  suburban  boarding-schools,  but  unintelligible  south 
of  the  Channel.  "  Dix  bagages,  touts  adresses,  and 
a  piece  of  blue  ribbon  on  each.  Dix,  ten — oh,  would 
anybody  make  them  understand !  Dix"  Holding 
up  ten  helpless  lavender-gloved  fingers.  "Really, 
Spencer,  I  think  you  might  try  to  be  of  some  little 
use." 

At  this  appeal  another  elegant  fool  (but  of  second 
water — a  cheap  copy  of  the  first,  flimsy  glace  silk 
instead  of  richest  cord)  steps  languidly  forth  from 
the  carriage.  She  too  is  admirably  helpless,  and  she 
too  speaks  a  tongue  incomprehensible  out  of  Eng- 
land; the  polyglot  smatter  of  advertising  abigails 
who  "  talk  three  languages  with  ease,  and  are  will- 


54  A  VAGABOND  HEROINE. 

ing  to  undertake  any  duties,  not  menial,  while  on  the 
Continent." 

They  address  themselves  to  the  host,  to  the 
waiters,  to  the  coachman.  Nobody  understands 
them ;  they  understand  nobody.  "  If  I  had  only 
bespoken  Belinda !  "  sighs  the  lady  piteously.  "  If 
you  had  had  the  slightest  consideration,  Spencer, 
you  might  have  reminded  me  to  telegraph  to  Miss 
O'Shea." 

The  words  have  scarcely  left  her  lips  when  a 
knot  of  little  lads,  English  and  French,  shoulder 
their  way  along  the  street — lads  from  about  eleven 
to  fourteen,  sunburnt,  dare-devil  looking  young  Arabs 
enough ;  barefooted,  most  of  them,  and  with  schis- 
teras  in  hand.  At  the  word  "Belinda,"  the  fore- 
most of  the  gang  turns,  and  nudges  the  boy  who 
comes  next.  They  all  stop,  they  all  stare ;  one  of 
them  gives  a  low,  meaning  whistle  across  his  shoul- 
der, and  in  another  second  or  two  Belinda  appears 
upon  the  scene,  her  battered  hat  more  battered  than 
when  we  saw  her  first,  two  hours  ago ;  the  flush  of 
heat  and  victory  on  her  brow,  her  espadrilles  so 
kicked  to  pieces  that  how  they  keep  upon  her  feet  at 
all  is  miraculous.  Belinda,  like  her  associates,  schis- 
tera  in  hand,  with  Costa,  who  has  been  rolling  in  the 
dust,  and  has  a  more  disreputable  look  than  usual,  at 
her  heels.  She  passes  along,  whistling,  forgetful  of 
Mr.  Jones  and  their  quarrel,  of  Rose's  letter  and 
threatened  arrival,  forgetful  of  everything  except  the 
game  of  paume  she  has  just  played  and  won,  when 


A  VAGABOND  HEROINE.  55 

suddenly  the  elegant  fool  number  one  looks  full  into 
the  girl's  face  and,  electrified,  recognizes  her. 

"  What,  Belinda,  can  that  be  you  ? " 

"  What,  Rose,  arrived  already  !  " 

"  How  dirty  she  is  ! "  (mentally). 

"  How  painted  she  is ! "  (all  but  aloud.; 

And  then  the  ladies  kiss;  hugely  to  the  enter 
tainment  of  Belinda's  comrades,  who  have  certainly 
never  before  beheld  Miss  O'Shea  engaged  in  any  of 
these  feminine  amenities. 

"You — you  have  grown,  I  think,"  says  Hose, 
scrutinizing  with  horror-stricken  eyes  the  girl's  rag 
ged,  dust-stained  clothes,  and  remembering  with  all 
the  shame  of  which  her  small  soul  is  capable  that 
the  lady's  maid  scrutinizes  them  also.  "And  you 
are  sunburnt — you  are  very  sunburnt,  Belinda." 

"  I  should  say  I  was,  just !  If  you  had  been 
playing  paume  under  such  a  sun  as  this,  you  would 
be  sunburnt,  too.  But  where  is  your  maid  ?  You 
don't  mean  to  say  you  have  travelled  all  the  way 
from  Brornpton  to  St.  Jean  de  Luz  alone  ? " 

Rose  on  this  gives  a  side-glance  at  her  gorgeous 
abigail,  and  whispers  in  Belinda's  ear :  "  That  is  my 
maid,  my  dear,  and  the  most  helpless,  the  most  un- 
bearable creature  in  the  world.  Still,  as  I  had  her 
from  Lady  Harriet  Howes — and  a  particular  favor 
her  ladyship  made  of  it — I  don't  like  to  change.  It's 
an  immense  thing,"  plaintively,  "  for  one's  maid  to 
have  lived  in  a  good  style  of  place,  you  know." 

"  I  know  ?  "  repeats  Belinda,  with  her  mocking 
gamin  laugh.  "  Yes,  I  am  just  the  fellow  to  know 


56  A  VAGABOND  HEROINE. 

about  fine  ladies  and  their  maids,  am  I  not !  But  do 
you  mean  to  say,  Rose,  that  you  and  that  magnifi- 
cently dressed  young  woman  have  travelled  from  one 
end  of  France  to  the  other  without  getting  run  away 
with?" 

"  I — I  have  not  been  altogether  without  an  es- 
cort,'5 responds  the  widow,  and  blushes. 

Belinda  thinks  she  must  have  been  wrong  about 
the  paint ;  not  knowing  that  there  are  women  who 
blush  and  paint  too. 

"  I  was  fortunate  enough  in  Paris  to  come  across 
a  very  old  aud  dear  friend,  who  took  me  about  a  lit- 
tle, and  then,  somehow  or  another,  I  met  with  him 
again  at  Bordeaux.  Curious  coincidence,  was  it 
not  ? ''  laying  her  plump  hand  with  girlish  playful- 
ness upon  Belinda's  slender  arm.  "  But  I  have  more 
curious  things  still  to  tell  you  when  we  are  alone. 
Mes  bagrayes."  This  to  the  dignified  Basque  coach- 
man, who,  with  the  air  of  a  prince,  his  cap  on  his 
head,  stands  waiting  to  be  paid.  "  Belinda,  will  you 
make  that  savage  comprehend  that  I  want  my  lug- 
gage ?  I'm  sure,"  says  Rose,  "  my  French  must  be 
better  than  most  people's ;  for  I  had  the  prize  two 
halves  following  at  Miss  Ingrain's — poor  mamma 
cried,  I  had  worked  myself  to  such  a  shadow.  But 
the  French  speak  with  such  an  extraordinary  accent 
there's  really  no  understanding  them.  Ten  large 
boxes,  tell  him,  each  with  a  blue  ribbon  and — oh,  the 
awful  dog !  Some  one  take  the  awful  dog  away  ! " 
Costa  has  been  critically  examining  the  new-comers, 
mistress  and  maid,  and  conveys  his  poor  opinion  of 


A  VAGABOND  HEROINE.  57 

them  to  Belinda  by  a  short  gruff  bark.  "  I  thought 
all  the  dogs  in  France  had  to  be  muzzled  by  law. 
Spencer,  Spencer !  Get  between  me  and  that  mon- 
ster!" 

It  is  long  before  Rose  can  be  made  to  believe 
that  her  precious  boxes  will  be  brought  from  the 
station  like  all  other  people's  boxes,  on  the  hotel 
omnibus.  Then,  when  rooms  have  to  be  selected  for 
her,  arise  new  troubles.  She  must  have  a  bedroom 
communicating  with  a  drawing-room  (and  the  draw- 
ing-room must  have  a  balcony  covered  with  flowers), 
a  bedroom  near  some  one  else's  in  case  of  fire — a 
bedroom  not  too  near  some  one  else's  in  case  of  their 
talking  in  their  sleep.  And  Spencer's  must  be  on 
the  same  floor.  And  is  there  any  way  of  ascertain- 
ing who  slept  in  the  rooms  last  ?  Will  Belinda  re- 
quest the  people  of  the  house  to  swear  that  there  has 
been  no  one  here  with  the  small-pox  this  summer? 

"  Swear  ?  Why,  a  Basque  will  swear  anything 
you  ask  him,"  cries  the  girl  mischievously.  "  Of 
course  people  with  small-pox  have  slept  here  this 
summer,  as  they  have  at  every  hotel  in  the  place. 
What  does  it  matter,  Rose  ?  You  will  be  so  mos- 
quito-bitten, like  our  friend  Augustus,  by  tomor- 
row morning,  that  you  won't  recognize  yourself  in 
the  glass.  A  touch  of  small-pox  more  or  less  cannot 
matter/' 

With  which  scanty  consolation  Rose,  the  tears 
rising  in  her  foolish,  frightened  eyes,  has  to  be  con- 
tented. 

"  If  I  only  knew  where  all  these  dreadful  doors 


58  A  VAGABOND  HEROINE. 

lead  to,"  she  sighs,  looking  round  her  with  pretty 
timidity  as  soon  as  Mistress  Spencer,  lier  nose  well 
in  the  air,  has  retired  to  inspect  her  own  apartment. 
"  But  I  have  heard  such  stories  of  what  goes  on  in 
foreign  hotels — it  was  all  in  the  papers  once ;  '  Judas 
doors'  I  think  they  called  them  ;  and  indeed  the  way 
Frenchmen  stare  at  me  in  the  street  is  enough.  I 
declare  nothing  would  ever  tempt  me  to  go  out  on 
the  Continent  alone." 

She  languishes  away  to  a  mirror,  and  taking  off 
her  veil,  begins  to  dust  her  delicate  rose-and-white 
face  with  her  cambric  handkerchief.  I  use  the  word 
"  dust"  intentionally.  Belinda,  under  the  same  cir- 
cumstances, would  rub  her  sun-tanned  skin  as  vigor- 
ously as  a  housemaid  rubs  mahogany.  But  women 
of  fashion  have  complexions,  not  skins.  Rose  treats 
hers  fearfully,  tenderly,  as  you  will  see  a  connoisseur 
treat  the  surface  of  some  fine  enamel  or  other  piece 
of  perishable  art ;  not,  it  may  be,  without  reason. 

"  I  have  grown  quite  an  old  woman,  have  I  not  ?  " 
She  puts  a  smile  on  the  corners  of  her  lips,  then 
turns  and  presents  her  face  for  the  girl's  admiration. 
"  I  dare  say  you  would  hardly  have  known  me  if  you 
had  met  me,  without  warning,  in  the  street  ?  Now, 
tell  me  the. honest  truth,  dear;  I  hate  flattery." 

Rose,  at  this  present  time  of  her  mortal  life,  has 
approached  as  near  as  it  is  possible  for  a  good-looking 
woman  ever  to  do  to  her  fortieth  year.  But,  if  there 
be  truth  in  that  delightful  French  adage  that  a  woman 
is  the  age  she  looks,  we  may  call  her  nine  and  twenty ; 


A  VAGABOND  HEROINE.  59 

of  course  I  mean,  after  her  art  labors  are  over  for  the 
day. 

"  Few  sorrows  hath  she  of  her  own,"  this  comely, 
silver-tongued,  bewitching  widow,  and  no  sorrows 
of  others  could  by  any  possibility  make  her  grieve. 
•  So  she  is  without  wrinkles.  The  lines  in  which 
strong  love,  strong  grief,  strong  feelings  of  any  kind 
grave  their  story  on  human  faces,  are  all  absent  from 
hers.  Round  cheeks,  breaking  into  dimples  like  a 
baby's  when  she  smiles;  wide-open  eyes,  of  that 
unchanging  yellow-hazel  that  ofteji  accompanies 
flaxen  lashes  and  eyebrows;  the  most  charming, 
most  insignificant  little  nose  }rou  ever  saw,  and  a 
mouth  not  altogether  good-tempered  by  nature  per- 
haps, but  trained  to  every  artificial  "  sweetness"  of 
smile  and  word :  such  is  Rose.  Her  hair,  that  once 
was  palest  hempen,  is  now  as  auriferous  a  copper  as 
Bond-street  chemistry  can  make  it,  and  a  marvel  of 
luxuriance;  such  exquisite  plaits  and  tresses,  such 
sly-nestling,  unexpected  little  ringlets !  (Has  Belinda 
forgotten  the  old  dinnerless  days,  when  her  tired  fin- 
gers had  to  crimp  and  plait  and  curl  in  the  shabby 
London  lodgings  ?)  Her  figure  is  plump — would  be 
over-plump,  but  for  the  corset-maker's  torturing  aid, 
and  Rose's  heroic  resolve  never  to  own  a  waist  of 
more  than  twenty-two  inches.  Her  complexion,  fair 
naturally,  improved  by  art,  is — well,  a  complexion, 
not  a  skin  :  need  I  say  more  ? 

Belinda  examines  her  with  eyes  that  would  pierce 
all  the  enamel,  all  the  rice  powder  in  the  world. 
kk  We  none  of  us  get  younger,  Rose;  you  no  more 


60  A  VAGABOND  HEROINE. 

than  other  people.  But  you  look  well  in  health.  I 
am  surprised  to  see  you  out  of  mourning,"  she  adds, 
giving  a  cold  glance  at  her  stepmother's  white-and- 
lilac  finery.  "  Has  your  Uncle  Robert  been  dead  six 
or  eight  weeks  ?  I  do  not  remember  exactly." 

"  Eight  weeks !  Oh,  Belinda  dear,  how  thought- 
less you  are."  Rose,  to  do  her  justice,  feels  far  more 
amiably  disposed  towards  Belinda  than  Belinda  feels 
toward  Rose.  Life  flows  at  its  smoothest  just  at 
present  with  Cornelius  O'Shea's  widow.  Dear 
Uncle  Robert  opportunely  removed  to  a  better 
world ;  his  will  all  that  could  be  desired  by  surviv- 
ing relations ;  good  looks  within  the  reach  of  one's 
own  industry  still,  and  a  lover,  handsome,  young, 
well-born,  to  crown  all.  How  can  Rose  feel  any- 
thing but  amiable,  especially  now  that  she  sees  how 
unfortunately  plain  this  poor  little  alien  stepdaugh- 
ter of  hers  has  grown  up !  "  Uncle  Robert  has  been 
dead  more  than  three  months,  and  1  am  only  just  in 
second  mourning.  The  milliners  tell  me  it's  ridicu- 
lously deep,  and  indeed  I  remember  seeing  Lady 
Harriet  wear  scarlet  less  than  six  weeks  after  old 
Miss  Howe's  death ;  but  I — I  know  what  a  friend  I 
have  lost!  Of  course,  I  could  not  enter  upon  these 
delicate  subjects  in  a  letter,  Belinda,  but  Uncle  Rob- 
ert has  left  me  everything,  unconditionally.  Money, 
house,  plate — everything.  I  only  hope  I  may  be 
guided ! "  says  Rose,  turning  up  her  eyes,  "  guided 
to  make  a  right  use  of  what  is  intrusted  to  me." 

Colder  and  harder  grows  the  expression  of  Be- 


A  VAGABOND  HEROINE.  61 

linda's  face.  Can  the  girl  forget  by  whose  absence, 
whose  death,  Rose's  good  fortune  was  purchased  ? 

"Oh,  you  are  very  lucky,  Rose,  very!'  But, 
somehow,  I  cannot  find  words  just  now  to  wish  you 
joy.  What  are  your  future  plans?  Are  you  going 
to  live  in  that  big  house  at  Brompton  all  alone  ?  " 

Mrs.  O'Shea's  eyes  sink  to  the  ground.  "  I — I 
have  many  things  to  talk  to  you  about,  Belinda,  as  I 
hinted  in  my  letter.  But  when  I  have  told  all  my 
little  story  I  am  sure  you  will  feel  for  me  in  my 
position.  The  romance  of  two  young  lives !  "  mur- 
murs Rose,  modestly  apologetic.  "Love  sacrificed 
io  duty !  A  heart  slowly  breaking  during  a  dozen 
years  !  Belinda,  my  dear  girl,  you  have  heard — you 
must  have  heard  of  Roger  Temple  ? " 

But  not  by  a  word  or  look  will  Belinda  assist  the 
widow's  bashfulness,  or  help  her  forward  in  her  con- 
fession. "  I  believe  that  I  have  heard  of  such  a  per- 
son somewhere,"  she  answers,  in  a  tone  of  the  most 
freezing  indifference.  "  Your  friend  Mr.  Jones  men- 
tioned him,  I  think,  Rose.  But  I  pay  so  little  atten- 
tion to  anything  Mr.  Jones  says ! " 

"  Belinda,  when  we  were  both  young — the  day 
will  come,  I  hope,  child,  when  you  will  sympathize 
more  with  the  trials  and  temptations  of  others — when 
we  were  both  young,  Roger  Temple  and  I  first  met. 
And  he  cared  for  me." 

Dead  silence ;  the  widow  confused,  and  stroking 
down  the  folds  of  her  silk  dress  with  her  white  fin- 
gers; Belinda's  slip  of  a  figure  standing  upright 
beside  the  window,  her  arms  folded,  her  lips  and 


f}2  A  VAGABOND  HEROINE. 

eyes  about  as  "  sympathetic"  as  though  they  had 
been  carved  in  granite. 

"  He  cared  for  me — too  much  for  his  own  peace 
— but  duty  stood  between  us,  and  we  parted  ! "  Of 
this  the  reader  shall  know  more  than  by  Rose's  hazy 
utterances.  "We  parted.  Fate  was  hard  upon  us 
both.  And  now — Belinda,  must  I  sa}>-  more  ?  " 

"  Say  everything,  please,  if  you  want  me  to 
understand  you." 

"  Roger  Temple  has  asked  me  to  be  his  wife  at 
last,  and  I—" 

"  And  you — are  going  to  be  married  again  ! " 
interrupts  Belinda  cruelly.  "  For  the  third  time ! 
Then  all  I  can  remark  is,  you  are  very  fond  of  being 
married,  Rose." 

A  heartless,  unwomanly  speech  enough ;  but 
Belinda,  like  many  other  raw  girls  of  her  age,  is 
absolutely  heartless  in  matters  of  love;  and  at  this 
moment  passionate,  unreasoning  jealousy  against  the 
rival  of  her  dead  father  is  sending  the  blood  to  her 
brain  too  quickly  for  her  to  be  very  nice  in  the  choice 
of  words. 

"  I'm  sure  I  don't  know  how  you  can  be  so  un- 
feeling," says  Rose,  almost  crying.  "  But  you  were 
always  the  same.  Even  when  you  were  little,  you 
had  no  more  sensibility  than  a  stone.  And  Roger 
always  expresses  himself  so  beautifully  about  you, 
and  the  Temples  are  such  a  good  family,  and  every- 
thing ;  and  then  to  say  that  I — /,  of  all  women  liv- 
ing, am  fond  of  being  married  !  I  do  hope,  Belinda, 
whatever  your  own  opinions  may  be,  you  will  not 


A  VAGABOND  HEROINE.  63 

express  yourself  in  this  most  heartless  and  indelicate 
manner  before  Captain  Temple !  " 

"  Captain  Temple  ?  "  repeats  Belinda,  all  inno- 
cence. "  Why,  when  am  I  ever  likely  to  see  Captain 
Temple  ? " 

"  You  will  see  him  in  St.  Jean  de  Luz  to-day." 

"  Captain  Temple  in  St.  Jean  de  Luz !  You 
mean  to  tell  me,  Rose,  that  you  and  a  yoimg  man 
are  travelling  about  the  world  together  ?  " 

And  Belinda,  the  first  and  last  time  in  her  life 
such  hypocrisy  can  be  recorded  of  her,  puts  on  an  air 
of  outraged  virtue  edifying  to  behold. 

"  Roger  met  me  in  Paris  and  again  in  Bordeaux," 
says  poor  Rose,  blushing  through  her  rouge  with 
vexation.  "  Roger  was  the  old  friend  I  told  you 
of.  And  there  was  always  Spencer — and  we  have 
taken  care  never  to  stop  at  the  same  hotel  even.  He 
has  gone  now  to  look  for  a  lodging  in  quite  another 
part  of  the  town.  If  you  knew,  Belinda,  if  you  only 
knew  what  a  soul  of  honor  Roger  Temple  has,  you 
would  not  talk  so  lightly  ! " 

"Ah,  but  you  must  remember  I  know  nothing 
at  all  about  him,"  retorts  the  girl,  "  and  my  educa- 
tion does  not  dispose  me  to  take  any  man's  honor  on 
trust.  Xever  mind,  Rosie,"  she  goes  on  with  an 
assumption  of  pitying  complaisance  ;  "  I  am  shocked, 
I  own,  but  I  will  keep  what  I  think  to  myself.  I 
will  not  say  a  word,  even  to  Burke." 

"  And  you  will  behave  with  feeling,  with  consid- 
eration to  Roger  Temple,  for  my  sake  I  " 


64:  A  VAGABOND  HEROINE. 

Before  the  girl  can  answer,  a  man's  step  sounds 
in  the  corridor,  a  knock  comes  at  the  door. 

" Entrez"  cries  out  Belinda,  in  her  clear  young 
voice. 

"  My  things !  "  sighs  the  widow  all  in  a  tremor, 
her  heart  reverting  to  the  possessions  which  lie  nearer 
to  it  even  than  her  lover — her  bandboxes. 

And  the  door  opens. 

"  Roger !  Yon  have  found  your  way  already, 
then  ? "  Rose  exclaims  with  rather  a  forced  little 
laugh,  and  retreating  hastily  from  the  light  that  falls 
unbecomingly  full  upon  her  through  the  open  win- 
dow. "  Belinda,  dearest,  my  very  old  acquaintance, 
Captain  Temple.  Now  mind,"  with  infantine  candor, 
"  I  shall  never  forgive  either  of  you  if  you  don't  fall  in 
love  with  each  other  at  once.  I  have  been  like  that 
always — Miss  Ingram  used  to  say  I  was  quite  absurd. 
Whoever  I  am  fond  of  must  be  fond  of  all  my 
friends!" 

But,  long  before  Rose  has  ceased  twittering  her 
small  falsities,  Belinda's  eyes  and  Roger  Temple's 
have  met — met  and  spoken  the  truth. 

"  In  life  as  on  railways,"  a  master  hand  has  writ- 
ten, "at  certain  points,  whether  you  know  it  or  not, 
there  is  but  an  inch,  this  way  or  that,  into  what  train 
you  are  shunted." 

Into  what  train  has  Belinda's  passionate  heart 
been  shunted,  all  unknowing,  at  this  moment ! 


CHAPTER  IY. 

WHAT   MEN   CALL   LOVE. 

OSE  spoke  of  the  romance  of  two  young  lives, 
of  love  sacrificed  to  duty,  of  a  heart  slowly- 
breaking  during  a  dozen  years.  This  we  may 
set  down  as  the  poetic  form  of  the  story 
about  herself  and  Roger.  Now  let  us  have  it  in  the 
prose. 

And  in  the  first  place,  I  would  remark,  that  if 
Roger  Temple's  heart  has  been  breaking  during  the 
length  of  time  Rose  imagines,  either  it  must  have 
been  an  extraordinarily  tough  heart  when  first  the 
process  was  set  up,  or  the  process  is  one  that  slightly 
affects  a  man's  outward  strength  and  health.  He  is 
a  well-knit,  handsome-looking  fellow  ;  a  little  sallow, 
perhaps,  like  most  men  whose  digestions  have  been 
too  long  tried  by  climate  and  curry,  and  with  a  touch 
of  Indian  listlessness  in  his  English  honest  blue  eyes. 
But  as  to  heart-break,  wasting  in  despair,  moral  dys- 
pepsia of  any  kind!  Ask  his  brother  officers,  the 
comrades  who  know  him  best,  what  man  in  the  regi- 
ment they  would  consider  the  most  absolutely  free 


66  A  VAGABOND  HEROINE. 

from  all  such  disorders,  and  ten  to  one,  the  answer 
will  be  "  Roger  Temple."  A  first-rate  shot,  a  bold 
rider,  a  capital  fellow  at  the  bivouac  or  mess  table — 
these  are  the  things  yon  will  hear  respecting  Roger 
among  men.  And  as  regards  softer  matters  ?  Oh, 
well,  flirtation  and  young  ladies  are  not  very  much  in 
old  Roger's  line.  If  marriage  is  fated  to  overtake 
him,  if  the  best  fellow  on  earth  is  fated  to  be  spoilt, 
it  will  have  to  be  done  by  a  coup  de  main.  Roger 
might  not  have  the  heart  to  say  "No"  to  a  very 
pretty  woman  if  she  asked  him  outright  to  marry 
her ;  but  he  would  certainly  never  have  the  energy 
to  undertake  the  preliminaries  of  courtship  himself. 

Thus  the  coarse,  indiscriminative  voice  of  his  fel- 
low men.  How  account  for  the  discrepancy  ? 

You  remember  Holmes's  fancy  as  to  the  three 
distinct  personalities  to  be  found  in  every  man :  1st. 
The  man  himself,  the  real  veritable  Thomas.  2d. 
Thomas's  ideal  Thomas.  3d.  The  ideal  Thomas  of 
Thomas's  friends.  To  these  I  would  add  the  ideal 
Thomas  of  Thomas's  mistress — a  man  in  love,  judged 
with  a  woman's  power  of  judging,  from  a  woman's 
standpoint,  being  a  creature  as  totally  strange  to  the 
poor  fellow's  male  friends  and  acquaintances  as  to  his 
own  consciousness. 

The  story,  in  the  prose  form,  is  simply  this :  Rose* 
married  in  her  girlhood  to  an  elderly  London  law 
yer  (with  whom,  as  an  absolute  nonentity,  the  con-' 
ventional  husband  of  a  charming  wife,  this  little  his- 
tory has  no  concern)  and  launched  into  a  narrow  cir- 
cle of  dull  professional  respectability,  was,  at  six-and- 


A  VAGABOND  HEROINE.  67 

twenty,  as  really  fresh  and  ingenuous  a  young  per- 
son as  ever  breathed.  Neither  perruquier  nor  Bond 
street  chemist  needed  then.  Her  flaxen  hair,  smooth- 
ly braided  according  to  the  fashion  of  the  day,  adorn- 
ed her  youthful  face.  Her  complexion,  innocent  of 
cosmetic,  was,  in  spite  of  some  few  freckles,  like  a 
just  opened  dog-rose.  Same  order  of  intellect,  samo 
depth  of  heart  as  now  ;  no  knowledge  of  the  world, 
save  of -her  own  little  pharisaical  Bloomsbury  Square 
world ;  small  scope  for  vanity,  less  for  sentiment.  So 
Roger  Temple  met  and  loved  her. 

The  Indian  mutiny  was  just  over  at  the  time,  and 
Roger,  a  fair-faced  boy  of  nineteen,  had  come  back, 
wounded,  after  his  first  dark  taste  of  soldier's  work, 
to  England.  He  made  Rose  Shelmadeane's  acquain- 
tance at  an  East  London  dinner  party,  to  which  a 
family  lawyer  of  the  Temples,  or  other  unimportant 
agent,  had  led  him ;  made  her  acquaintance,  sat  oppo- 
site to  her  at  table,  and,  not  knowing,  till  dessert,  at 
least,  that  she  was  the  crown  and  blessing  of  another 
man's  life  already,  conceived  for  her  as  wild  a  passion 
as  ever  foolish  lad  conceived  for  still  more  foolish 
woman  since  the  world  begun. 

The  London  season  was  at  its  height,  even  Rose's 
humdrum  life  enlivened  by  an  unwonted  share  of 
parties,  theatre-going,  drives  in  the  park,  visits  to  the 
Zoological;  country  cousins  who  must  be  amused 
staying  in  the  house.  Roger  saw  her,  dogged  her, 
worshipped  her  everywhere.  One  of  the  country 
cousins  being  female  and  unmarried,  it  might  be  as- 
eumed  that  Mr.  Temple's  attentions  were  honorably 


68  A  VAGABOND  HEROINE. 

matrimonial.  Mr.  Temple  being  well-born,  young, 
handsome,  of  good  expectations,  was  it  not  a  manifest 
duty  to  offer  him  encouragement  ? 

Thus  Rose,  with  small  platitudes,  stifled  her 
small  conscience  for  a  fortnight  or  so.  Then  the 
end  came — the  end  to  the  prologue,  not  the  play. 

Watching  the  hippopotamus  together  one  July 
Sunday  afternoon  at  the  Zoological,  the  country 
cousins,  the  nonentity  of  a  husband,  all  but  within 
earshot,  young  Master  Roger  made  a  fool  of  himself. 
In  stammering,  passionate  whispers,  told  Mrs.  Shel- 
madeane  a  secret  which  Mrs.  Shelmadeane  had  been 
calmly  aware  of  for  some  time  past,  but  which  it  was 
shocking,  oh,  unendurably  shocking,  even  to  think  of, 
the  moment  the  confession  happened  to  find  its  way 
into  words. 

She  walked  away  from  him,  her  fair  young 
matron  face  ablaze,  and,  with  the  air  of  a  new  Cor- 
nelia, laid  her  hand  upon  her  husband's  arm.  Three 
evenings  later — Rose  twenty-six,  remember,  Roger 
nineteen — was  waltzing  with  him  at  a  ball  to  which 
duty  bade  her  chaperone  her  country  cousins  at  the 
Hanover  Square  rooms. 

Mr.  Temple  had  been  wicked — so  wicked  that  it 
really  took  one's  breath  away  to  think  of  it — in 
daring  to  regard  her,  an  honored  wife,  save  with  feel- 
ings of  iciest  respect  and  esteem.  But  then  Rose, 
gentle  soul,  felt  constrained  to  pity  the  poor  mis- 
guided fellow,  to  lead  him,  if  it  might  be,  into  better 
ways.  And  that  Bloomsbury  Square  life  and  hus- 
band of  hers,  illumined  by  present  experience,  were 


A  VAGABOND  HEROINE.  69 

so  hideously  monotonous,  and  the  homage  of  a  man, 
handsome,  young,  distinguished  like  Roger,  was  so 
honey-sweet  to  vanity.  And  then  think  how  the 
papers  had  spoken  of  Mr.  Temple's  bravery  in  India ; 
think  of  all  the  horrid  Sepoys  he  must  have  killed, 
his  arm  still  in  that  interesting  black  sling.  What 
could  Rose  do  but  accord  the  lad  the  friendship  for 
which  he  pleaded,  and  agree  to  forget  that  fatal, 
erring,  not  altogether  charmless,  moment  when  they 
watched  the  hippopotamus  together  at  the  Zoo. 

A  better  woman,  or  a  worse  one,  a  woman  inspired 
by  imagination  or  guided  by  experience,  might  have 
been  terrified  at  such  a  position.  Good,  passionless, 
unimaginative,  self -saturated  Rose,  the  first  little  cold 
shock  of'the  plunge  over,  felt  no  terror  at  all.  What 
she  did  feel  strongest,  I  think  (when  one  can  disinter 
it  sufficiently  for  analysis  from  the  mass  of  small 
vanities,  triumphs  before  partnerless  country  cousins, 
etc.,  in  which  it  was  embedded),  was — gratified  sense 
of  power. 

"  Scratch  a  slave's  skin,  you  find  a  tyrant  under- 
neath." 

Rose,  like  some  other  millions  of  her  sisters,  had 
been  a  slave  from  her  birth,  first  as  a  girl  then  as  a 
wife — I  speak  of  moral  servitude,  of  course.  All  at 
once  she  found  herself  in  the  position  of  a  ruler ;  and 
she  used  her  new  prerogative  as  human  beings  who 
are  not  to  power  born  are  apt  to  use  it. 

The  young  fellow  gave  up  for  her  his  time,  his 
friends,  his  pleasures ;  gave  up  for  her  his  life,  and 
received  in  return  what  ?  Sermons,  a  soiled  white 


70  A  VAGABOND  HEROINE. 

glove  or  two,  and  enough  half-dead  flowers  (he  has 
some  of  these  in  his  possession  still)  to  fill  a  respect- 
able herbarium. 

By  degrees  the  story  got  known,  not  in  Hose's 
starched  Bloomsbury  Square  circle,  but  among  Roger 
Temple's  bachelor  friends,  most  of  whom,  indeed, 
contrived  to  gain  a  glimpse  of  Mrs.  Shelmadeane. 
Heavens,  what  a  common-place,  dowdy  little  mortal 
poor  Roger's  divinity  was  pronounced  to  be  by  men 
not,  like  himself,  under  the  glamour  of  passion! 
Pretty,  if  you  will,  the  kind  of  red-and-white  stupid 
beauty  you  will  meet  a  dozen  times  a  day  in  any 
provincial  town ;  but  nothing,  positively  nothing 
more.  And  Roger  of  all  others,  with  his  fastidious 
tastes,  his  high-flown  boyish  ideal  of  feminine  grace 
and  refinement,  to  have  lost  his  senses  about  this 
little  Bloomsbury  Square  prude !  Roger,  to  whom 
half  the  best  houses  in  town  stood  open,  upon  whom 
good  and  handsome  and  well-born  women  by  the 
score  would  have  smiled,  had  he  so  chosen ! 

The  infatuation  lasted  out  the  London  season. 
Then  old  Shelmadeane  carried  his  wife  off  to  Mar- 
gate— tardily  suspicious,  perhaps,  as  to  the  kind  of 
sacrifice  she  was  making  to  duty — and  Roger's  leave 
of  absence  came  to  an  end.  He  was  angry,  bitter, 
sick  at  heart ;  his  divinity  during  their  last  interview 
having  sermonized  and  sympathized,  and  altogether 
tortured  him  beyond  measure ;  determined  to  return 
to  India  without  seeing  her  again,  determined  to 
despise,  to  forget  her.  He  determined  all  this ; 
likelier  than  not  would  have  carried  it  into  execu- 


A  VAGABOND  HEROINE.  71 

tion  to  the  letter — at  nineteen  so  much  is  possible  to 
the  human  heart — had  Mrs.  Shelmadeane  been  will- 
ing. But  Mrs.  Shelmadeane  was  very  far  indeed 
from  willing. 

She  was  (I  make  the  statement  advisedly,  uncon- 
ditionally, so  as  not  to  have  to  go  over  the  same 
ground  again),  both  now  and  hereafter,  one  of  the 
most  rigidly  virtuous  women,  as  far  as  conduct  goes, 
that  ever  breathed.  She  was  not  certainly  at  that 
early  period  of  her  life,  in  any  ordinary  sense  of  the 
word,  a  coquette.  But  she  loved  her  new  taste  of 
power  with  all  the  faculties  for  loving  nature  had 
bestowed  upon  her,  and  for  no  consideration,  short 
of  saving  her  soul  from  actual  transgression,  would 
have  given  her  slave  back  his  freedom.  He  must 
look  forward  to  nothing ;  not  even  to  the  day  when 
he  might  legitimately  claim  her  hand.  She  would 
feel  herself — oh  dear ! — the  guiltiest  of  creatures  if 
she  could  encourage  anybody  to  look  forward  with 
hope  to  anybody  else's  death.  What  is  such  hope, 
Rosie  would  say,  piously  shaking  her  blonde  head, 
but  another  kind  of  murder?  Mr.  Temple  must 
look  forward  to  nothing  in  the  future,  must  ask  for 
nothing  in  the  present,  must  always  remember, 
please,  that  she  was  married  to  a  man  whose  moral 
worth  she  respected,  always  speak  and  act  as  if  Mr. 
Shelmadeane  were  present.  But  whether  he  re- 
mained in  England,  or  whether  he  went  back  to 
India,  Roger  Temple  must  not  regain  his  freedom ! 

She  wrapped  up  her  feelings,  even  to  her  own 
soul,  in  the  very  prettiest  tinsel  paper  of  all  hypoc- 


72  A  VAGABOND  HEROINE. 

risy's  store.  To  let  that  poor  boy  depart  in  his 
present  frame  of  mind,  would  be  to  let  him  depart 
desperate.  He  might  even  go  arid  marry  some 
Dreadful  Creature  in  revenge,  as  men  with  blighted 
affections  have  been  known  to  do,  and  she  would 
have  the  burthen  on  her  conscience.  Who  should 
say  what  the  effect  of  a  perfect  reconciliation,  of  a 
few  solemn  sisterly  words  at  parting,  might  have 
upon  all  the  poor  young  fellow's  future  career  r( 

And  she  wrote  to  him — a  sweet  little  plaintive 
kind  of  note,  in  her  school-girl  hand,  with  her  school- 
girl phrases ;  that,  also,  Roger  Temple  keeps  still ! 
Accidentally  Mr.  Shelmadeane  had  heard  in  the  city 
that  Mr.  Roger  Temple  was  going  back  to  India  at 
once.  Surely  he  did  not  mean  to  start  without  bid- 
ding his  sincerest  friends  and  well-wishers  adieu  ? 
They  had  gone  to  Margate  for  change,  and  Margate 
was  rather  dull,  Rosie  confessed  ingenuously.  But 
Mr.  Shelmadeane,  on  the  whole,  complained  less  of 
his  gout,  so  she  must  be  grateful.  And  they  dined 
at  six.  And  Mr.  Shelmadeane  was  always  at  home, 
except  on  Mondays  and  Tuesdays.  When  would 
Mr.  Temple  come  \ 

Neither  on  a  Monday  or  a  Tuesday,  as  some 
older  men,  versed  in  the  world's  ways,  might,  after 
the  receipt  of  such  a  note,  have  ventured  upon  do- 
ing. For  no  personal  gratification  would  young 
Roger  have  abused  the  angelic,  childlike  simplicity 
of  the  woman  he  loved.  Honorably,  quixotically, 
on  a  day  when  he  was  certain  of  finding  the  husband 


A  VAGABOND  HEROINE.  73 

at  home,  he  went  down  to  Margate,  and  for  the  last 
time  held  Mrs.  Shelmadeane's  white  hand  in  his. 

What  a  parting  scene  it  was  to  him !  Dinner 
first — with  the  old  lawyer  prosing  politics  and  grum- 
bling over  the  dressing  of  his  turbot ;  his  wife,  with 
her  girlish  innocent  face,  smiling  nuptial  smiles  at 
him  across  the  table.  Then  dessert,  torture  of  tor- 
tures, when  Rosie  insisted  upon  leaving  her  husband 
and  "his"  friend  alone.  Finally  the  half  hour's 
stroll  on  the  beach,  "just  to  smoke  one  last  cigar 
with  poor  Mr.  Shelmadeane,"  said  Rosie,  a  tremor 
discernible  to  Roger,  if  to  no  one  else,  in  her  soft 
voice.  For  about  three  minutes  out  of  this  half 
hour — divinest,  crudest  moments  Roger's  young 
life  had  experienced — chance  willed  that  they  should 
be  alone.  And  in  these  their  farewells  were  spoken ; 
a  madness  of  farewells,  among  the  Margate  bathing 
machines.  And  then  old  Shelmadeane  pounced 
down  upon  them.  "A  quarter  to  nine,  sir.  Unless 
you  mean  to  miss  your  train,  you  must  be  off."'  And 
for  a  dozen  shifting,  fateful  years  they  saw  each 
other's  faces  no  more. 

Long  letters  passed  between  them,  with  or  without 
Mr.  Shelmadeane's  knowledge — I  refrain  from  speak- 
ing with  certainty  on  this  point — but  letters  cer- 
tainly that  Mr.  Shelmadeane  or  any  one  else  in  the 
world  might  have  read  with  safety.  Rose,  indeed, 
half  thoiTght  at  times  that  her  victim  repressed  all 
allusion  to  his  tortures  too  successfully.  Every  mail, 
every  second  mail  at  first ;  then  once  in  three  or  four 
mouths ;  then  twice  a  year.  So  the  correspondence 
4 


74  A  VAGABOND  HEROINE. 

attending  Roger's  ill-starred  passion  was  carried  on- 
At  last  Mr.  Shelmadeane  died. 

And  Roger  Temple,  of  course,  flew  to  England 
to  put  in  first  claim  for  the  possession  of  his  beloved 
one's  hand  ?  No,  Roger  Temple  did  nothing  of  the 
kind.  He  was  away  up  the  country,  pig-sticking, 
when  the  letter  containing  the  news  of  Rosie^s 
widowhood  reached  him,  after  some  delay.  And  he 
loved  sport  passionately.  And  the  two  or  three  men 
who  formed  the  party  happened  to  be  his  closest 
friends.  And  must  not  weeds  be  worn  a  decent  time 
before  they  are  replaced  by  wedding  favors  ?  Con- 
sidering Rosie's  fine  propriety  of  sentiment,  her 
highly-strung,  shrinking  nature,  could  a  man  dare — 
Well,  'twas  a  curious  little  imbroglio  altogether, 
highly  illustrative  of  human  weakness  in  the  matter 
of  attainable  and  unattainable  desires.  But  our  busi- 
ness, at  present,  being  rather  with  the  chronicling  of 
fact  than  the  depiction  of  feeling  or  motive,  I  pro- 
ceed. 

Roger  neither  rushed  to  England  nor  wrote  any 
letter  designed  to  compromise  his  Rosie's  newly- 
gained  liberty.  It  must  be  remembered  that  he  had 
now  been  wasting  in  despair  during  a  good  many 
years;  also  that  men  get  into  the  habit  of  every- 
thing, even  of  hopeless  passion,  and  against  their 
better  reason  may  feel  disturbed  by  having  to  aban- 
don a  settled  mode  of  thought.  Like  the  proverbial 
Frenchman  who  exclaims  when,  after  a  lifetime's 
separation,  he  is  about  to  be  lawfully  united  to  the 
woman  he  loves,  u  But  what  shall  I  do  with  my 


A  VAGABOND  HEROINE.  75 

evenings?"  Roger  Temple,  on  old  Shelmadeane's 
dea.th,  might  have  been  tempted  to  ask  himself, 
"But  what  shall  I  do  with  my  despair?" 

"  The  greatest  charm  of  a  married  woman,''  says 
a  spiteful  dramatist,  "  is  invariably — her  husband  !  " 

When  Roger's  foolish  lips  first  stammered  their 
secret  in  the  Zoological  Gardens,  or  trembled  out 
their  mad  farewells  upon  the  Margate  beach,  it  would 
have  been  hard  to  convince  him  that  Mrs.  Shelma- 
deane's greatest  charm  was  Mr.  Shelmadeane.  But 
time  sharpens  many  an  epigram  that  seems  pointless 
to  us  in  our  youth. 

He  wrote  the  widow  as  exquisitely-delicate  a  let- 
ter of  condolence  as  was  ever  penned  ;  putting  him- 
self and  his  own  selfish  hopes  and  fears  utterly  away 
in  the  background ;  dwelling  wholly  on  her  and  on 
her  loss.  He  spoke  tenderly,  but  with  vagueness,  of 
the  long  years  of  their  separation  ;  he  spoke  with 
greater  vagueness  still  of  the  day  of  their  possible 
reunion.  Of  marriage,  of  anything  that  could  by 
possibility  be  construed  into  a  hint  of  marriage,  he 
spoke  not  a  word. 

An  ordinarily  intelligent  woman,  before  she  had 
read  such  a  letter  to  the  end,  would  have  known  that 
her  lover's  love  for  her  was  over.  Rose,  guided  by 
the  irrefragable  logic  of  a  fool,  deduced  from  it  only 
a  new  proof  of  her  slave's  devotion  to  her  welfare. 

"  There  is  one,  far  distant,  who  adores  me,  but 
who  is  too  high-souled,  too  generous,  to  think  of 
anything  but  my  grief ! "  she  would  say  to  Major 
O'Shea,  who  got  an  introduction  to  the  pretty  widow, 


76  A  VAGABOND  HEROINE. 

and  indeed  set  steadily  to  work  love-making,  before 
her  crape  was  six  weeks  old.  "  Ah,  Major  O'Shea, 
if  you  had  only  the  conscientiousness,  the  noble,  for- 
bearing, unselfish  nature  of  that  poor  fellow  in 
India  !  " 

And  then  Cornelius  would  respond  to  the  effect 
of  his  heart  being  stronger  than  his  reason,  of  his 
impetuous  feelings  (he  was  nearer  fifty  than  forty  at 
the  time,  and  had  been  in  love,  after  one  fashion  or 
another,  since  he  wore  jackets) — his  impetuous  feel 
ings  hurrying  him  beyond  the  cold  bounds  of  con 
ventional  decorum.  And  the  widow  would  sigh  and 
blush,  and  wipe  a  tear  or  two,  and  call  him  a  sad, 
sad  man,  as  she  yielded  her  hand  to  be  kissed.  And 
the  upshot  of  it  all  was,  that  the  next  news  Roger 
Temple  got  of  Rose  Shelmadeane  was  a  flaming 
announcement  in  the  "  Times"  of  her  infidelity  to 
him ;  by  special  license,  an  archdeacon  and  three  or 
four  of  the  lesser  clergy  assisting,  at  St.  George's, 
Hanover  Square. 

Singular  perversity  of  men's  nature  !  The  news 
of  this  marriage  cost  him  not  only  the  most  poignant 
jealousy,  but  a  revival  of  his  love  in  all  its  first  fresh 
ardor.  The  existence  of  a  husband,  of  any  husband, 
seemed  really  some  necessary,  mysterious  condition 
of  Roger  Temple's  passion.  You  should  have  seen 
the  letter  of  good  wishes  that  he  wrote  the  bride ; 
bitterest  veiled  reproach  discernible  through  every 
courteous  phrase,  every  pleasant  little  congratulatory 
message  to  Major  O'Shea !  Rosie  cried  herself 
almost  plain  for  the  day  after  receiving  it ;  hid  it 


A  VAGABOND  HEROINE.  77 

jealously  from  Cornelius,  to  whose  philosophic  mind 
the  whole  matter,  you  may  be  sure,  would  have  been 
one  of  profoundest  indifference ;  and  wrote  Roger  a 
pleading,  self-extenuating  reply  by  return  of  mail, 
with  three  violets — ah,  did  Captain  Temple  remem- 
ber the  bunches  of  violets  he  used  to  bring  her  dur- 
ing the  happy  days  of  their  friendship  in  Blooms- 
bury  Square  ? — enclosed. 

And  Captain  Temple,  Rose  has  had  his  own  word 
for  it  since,  kissed  violets  and  letter  both,  and  set  up 
the  writer  on  the  old  pedestal  in  his  imagination — I 
was  very  nearly  writing  his  heart — that  she  had  ever 
held. 

Roger  himself  stands,  hat  in  hand,  all  this  time 
awaiting  Belinda's  reception  of  him,  we  will  have 
done,  in  as  few  words  as  possible,  with  retrospect  of 
the  love  story.  Some  slight  insight  into  Rose's 
domestic  grievances  as  Mrs.  O'Shea,  the  reader  has 
had  already ;  we  need  not  further  enlarge  upon  them. 
Cornelius  spent  her  money,  neglected  her,  went  to 
America,  where  his  fate  awaited  him.  And  Rose,  on 
her  Uncle  Robert's  death,  found  herself  once  more 
free — free  and  with  a  handsome  little  income,  villa 
at  Brompton,  plate,  linen,  and  accessories,  at  her  own 
disposal. 

And  then  it  was  that  she  and  her  old  lover  looked 
again  upon  each  other's  faces.  Roger  had1  returned 
to  England  unexpected  by  his  friends,  his  long  leave 
having  been  given  him  some  months  earlier  than  he 
anticipated;  and  on  a  certain  May  night,  Rose  at 
that  moment  believing  him  to  be  thousands  of  miles 


78  A  VAGABOND  HEROINE. 

away  in  India,  knocked  at  the  door  of  the  Brompton 
villa  and  inquired,  in  a  voice  whose  accents  he  vainly 
strove  to  command,  if  Mrs.  O'Shea  was  at  home. 

It  was  late  for  a  visit  of  ceremony,  between  ten 
and  eleven  o'clock,  and  the  starched-looking  butler  of 
occasion  who  answered  his  knock  informed  him  pom- 
pously that  Mrs.  O'Shea  was  at  home,  but  not  visible 
to  strangers.  Mrs.  O'Shea  had  had  company  to  din- 
ner, and — 

"  Mrs.  O'Shea  will  see  me,"  interrupted  Roger. 
"  You  need  not  even  announce  me.  I  am  expected." 

And  in  another  minute  he  found  himself  among 
the  wax-lights  and  guests  and  brand-new  gilding  and 
upholstery  of  Rose's  drawing-room. 

He  slipped  in,  unannounced,  as  he  desired,  and 
looked  round  the  assemblage  in  vain  for  Rose. 
Seven  or  eight  women,  of  quasi-fashion,  bare-shoul- 
dered, jewelled,  flower-bedecked,  were  present.  He 
looked  among  them  in  vain  for  the  modest  face  and 
smoothly  braided  blonde  head  of  Rose  Shelmadeane. 

At  last  a  fluffy-haired,  brilliantly  complexioned — 
alas,  that  I  must  write  it ! — middle-aged  lady  came 
forward  to  him  and  bowed ;  a  lady  extremely  over- 
dressed or  underdressed — as  you  like  to  term  it. 
"  I  am  not  aware  that  I  have  the  honor — "  she  began, 
looking  at  him  strangely. 

And  then  he  knew  her  voice. 

Poor  Rose,  if  she  could  have  seen  into  her  quon- 
dam lover's  heart  just  at  that  moment ! 

He  watched  her  during  the  next  hour  or  so  with 
feelings  about  equally  balanced  of  disappointment 


A  VAGABOND  HEROINE.  79 

and  blank  surprise.  Every  woman's  good  looks  must 
decline  after  the  lapse  of  the  twelve  best  years  of  her 
maturity,  and  Rose's  had  really,  in  the  common 
acceptation  of  the  phrase,  "  worn  well."  But  it  was 
not  any  fading  due  to  age,  it  was  not  time's  natural 
footprints  on  cheek  or  brow,  that  shocked  him  thus; 
it  was  the  absolute,  startling,  transformation  of  her 
whole  personality  ! 

Soberest,  most  dove-like  of  young  matrons  at 
twenty -six,  Rose,  a  dozen  years  later,  had  developed 
into  the  very  friskiest  of  mature  sirens,  all  her  girlish 
promise  of  silliness  ripened  into  a  bounteous  harvest 
of  meridional  folly.  The  lint-white,  smooth-braided 
locks  were  copper-gold  now,  frizzled  high  in  won- 
drous monstrous  pyramids  above  her  head,  with  out- 
lying curls  and  puffs  and  chignons  that  defy  descrip- 
tion. The  faint  rose-bloom  complexion  had  become 
definite  pearl  and  carmine,  the  pale  eyebrows  grown 
dark  ;  the  eyes,  not  wholly  innocent  of  belladonna, 
were  a  little  fixed  and  hard  ;  the  decorous  half-high 
dress  of  the  old  Bloomsbury  Square  days  was  replaced 
by — well,  by  the  drapery  of  a  Greek  statue. 

Roger,  who  had  lived  so  long  away  from  London, 
did  not  know  that  this  is  the  received  way  in  which 
the  modern  English  matron  of  repute  "  grows  old 
gracefully,"  and,  as  I  said,  gazed  at  poor  Rose's  full- 
blown charms  with  a  sensation  curiously  blent  of 
amazement  and  repulsion ;  a  sensation,  let  me  add, 
of  which  he  was  himself  heartily  ashamed. 

This  lasted  till  the  departure  of  Rose's  guests  left 
them  alone.  Then,  hearing  more  of  the  old,  sweet, 


80  A  VAGABOND  HEROINE. 

appealing  voice — no  meretricious  change  had  affected 
that — and  his  eyes,  it  may  be,  growing  accustomed 
to  the  outward  plastering  of  his  ruined  idol,  Roger's 
heart  grew  softer. 

He  had  not  really  dined,  Mrs.  O'Shea  discovered ; 
had  arrived  in  London  late  that  afternoon,  and,  for- 
getful of  bodily  sustenance,  had  rushed  away  to  call 
on  her  at  once.  So  a  little  supper  was  organized,  ac- 
companied by  a  bottle  of  Uncle  Robert's  best  cham- 
pagne. And  then  this  man  and  woman,  who  had 
played  at  love  so  long,  began  looking  into  each  other's 
eyes,  to  talk  of  all  that  they  had  suffered  (in  imagina- 
tion or  reality)  since  they  parted.  And  the  cruel  in- 
tervening years  faded  away.  Thtey  were  whispering 
beside  the  hippopotamus,  they  were  murmuring  fare- 
wells upon  the  Margate  beach,  again.  And  by  and 
by  Rose's  hand,  youthful  and  white  still,  found  its' 
way  into  Captain  Temple's.  It  trembled ;  he  pressed 
it  to  reassure  her.  Rose,  with  a  sigh,  made  a  feint 
of  moving  away.  And  then,  for  the  first  time  in 
their  lives,  their  lips  met,  and  Roger's  fate  was 
sealed. 

The  wax-lights  had  burnt  low  by  now,  and  Rose 
kept  her  face  well  in  shadow,  nay,  hid  it  bashfully 
out  of  sight,  on  her  lover's  breast.  And  when  he 
kissed  her  beautiful  golden  hair  it  never  occurred  to 
him  to  think  from  what  dead  head  it  might  have 
been  sheared  ;  and  when  at  ast  she  lifted  up  her  face 
to  falter  out  softest  promises  of  life-long  truth,  he  did 
not  even  see  the  deposit  of  rice  powder  it  had  left 
upon  his  waistcoat ! 


A  VAGABOND  HEROINE.  gl 

Who  loves,  cavils  not ;  and  Roger  Temple,  or 
Roger  Temple's  imagination,  loved,  during  this 
hour's  intoxication  at  least. 

"What  he  thought  and  felt  next  morning,  when 
he  had  to  review  his  position,  and  Mrs.  O'Shea's 
complexion  by  daylight,  none  but  Roger  Temple 
ever  knew. 

He  was  not,  it  must  be  borne  in  mind,  a  ladies' 
man,  had  associated  little  with  women  during  the 
later  years  of  his  life,  had  studied  them  less.  And 
his  reverence  for  the  whole  sex  was  extreme — based 
rather  on  ideal  foundations,  indeed,  than  on  fact.  If 
sometimes  the  sense  of  his  mistake  galled  him,  ii 
sometimes  he  felt  the  shame  inseparable  from  the 
position  of  a  lover  who  loves  not,  you  may  be  sure 
that  Rose  and  the  world  never  found  it  out.  Rosie 
loved  him  !  What  matters  some  disparity  of  years  if 
a  woman's  aifections  be  young !  When  the  fruit  after 
which  a  man  has  longed  for  years  drops  between  his 
lips  at  last,  has  he  a  right  to  complain  because  time 
has  somewhat  over-mellowed  its  flaver? 

So  Roger  would  fain  argue  himself  into  good  con- 
ceit with  his  bargain,  so  reconcile  his  heart  to  the  at- 
tainment of  its  fondest  desires. 

And  still  at  times  his  spirit  is  heavy  laden  ;  still 
through  rouge,  and  bismuth,  and  pearl  powder,  old 
age  will  peer  out  at  him  from  the  face  of  his  be- 
trothed, and  turn  his  heart  cold. 

"  You  really  grow  more  and  more  foolish  every 
day  you  live,  my  dear  Roger,"  Rose  will  remark, 
prettily  conscious  of  her  own  charms  as  she  meets 
4* 


82 


A  VAGABOND  HEROINE. 


his  gaze.  "  What  can  it  be,  I  wonder,  that  makes  you 
look  at  me  as  you  do  ? " 

"  The  years  of  our  separation,  my  love,"  is  invari- 
ably Roger's  answer.  "  I  have  to  make  up  now,  re- 
member, for  the  dozen  years  during  which  I  never 
saw  your  face." 

And  Rose,  promptly  satisfied  by  any  appeal  to 
vanity,  asks  no  more. 


3HAPTER   V. 

COMPLIMENTS,  NOT  CARESSES. 

!  BLIND  A'S  eyes  have  met  Roger's,  and,  in 
spite  of  ail  her  foregone  jealous  resolves,  the 
girl  finds  it  hard  to  steel  herself  against 
Rosie's  future  husband.  Never  in  her  whole 
vagabond,  loveless  life  has  such  honest  human  sun- 
shine shone  on  her  as  shines  now  in  Roger  Temple's 
smile. 

"  I  don't  know  about  falling  in  love,  but  I  am 
sure  Belinda  and  I  mean  to  be  friends,  Rosie,"  he 
says,  advancing.  "  Do  we  not,  my  dear?" 

And  before  she  can  find  time  to  put  herself  on 
guard.  Captain  Temple's  bronzed  moustache  has  touch- 
ed her  cheek.  It  is  the  kind  of  salutation  that  could 
scarce,  by  the  very  iciest  prude,  be  stigmatized  as  a 
kiss,  and  yet  it  bears  a  sufficiently  marked  family  re- 
semblance to  one  to  be  unpleasant  in  Rosie's  sight. 

"  I,  I  really,  Roger — Belinda  looks  so  ridiculously 
younger  than  she  is ! " 

"Not  a  bit,"  cries  Roger,  and  now  he  rests  his 
hand  kindly  on  the  little  girl's  shoulder.  "  Belinda 


84  A  VAGABOND  HEROINE. 

is  fifteen  years  old — you  told  me,  did  you  not,  that 
she  was  fifteen?  Well,  and  she  looks  it.  Don't 
mind  Rosie,  Belinda.  Rosie  turns  rusty  at  the 
thought  of  having  a  grown-up  daughter." 

"  I  shall  be  seventeen  the  week  after  next,"  says 
Belinda,  holding  up  her  chin.  "  I  don't  know  what 
people  mean  by  taking  me  for  a  child.  I  have  cer- 
tainly seen  enough  of  the  world  and  its  wickedness 
to  make  me  feel  old,"  she  adds,  with  the  accustomed 
hard  little  rebellious  ring  in  her  voice. 

"  Belinda  will  look  different — I  trust  Belinda  will 
look  totally  different  when  she  is  properly  dressed," 
says  the  widow,  glancing  down  at  her  own  elegantly 
flowing  draperies.  "  I  must  really  have  a  sjerious  talk 
with  Miss  Burke  about  these  short  skirts.'' 

"  Ah,  but  Miss  Burke  is  not  here  to  be  talked 
•with,  Rosie,"  cries  Belinda,  bent,  it  would  seem,  on 
disclosing  every  obnoxious  truth  she  can  hit  upon. 
"  My  natural  guide  and  protector  has  been  away  in 
Spain  a  week  or  more,  collecting  facts  for  her  book, 
and  I  am  knocking  about  alone,  as  you  see — me  and 
my  dog  Costa." 

"  Alone !  "  stammers  Rose,  shocked  not  so  much, 
perhaps,  at  the  fact  itself,  as  at  having  the  fact  expos- 
ed before  Roger.  "  You  don't  mean  actually  alone, 
my  dear  ? " 

"  "Well,  no  ;  I  have  my  chums,  of  course,  the  fel- 
lows who  were  with  me  in  the  street  when  you  arriv- 
ed. Now,  Rose,"  she  goes  on,  pitilessly,  "  tell  the 
truth  !  Were  you  or  were  you  not  ashamed  when 
you  first  saw  me  \  " 


A  VAGABOND  HEROINE.  85 

"  I — I  was  surprised,  Belinda,"  says  Rose,  in  her 
sweetest  little  feminine  treble.  "  It  is  not  usual  in 
England,  you  know,  to  see  a  girl  of  seventeen  wear- 
ing her  dress  above  her  ankles.  And  then  those  fear- 

O 

ful — what  must  I  call  them,  Belinda  ? — what  do  they 
call  those  fearful  door-mat  things  you  have  on  your 
feet  ? " 

They  call  those  fearful  things  alpargetas  in 
Spanish,  espadriMes  in  French,"  answers  Belinda, 
coolly  holding  out  a  ragged  sandalled  foot  for  inspec- 
tion. "  If  you  played  paume  on  the  hot  sand  for 
hours  together  as  I  do,  you  would  be  glad  to  wear 
espadrilles,  Rose ;  yes,  or  to  go  barefoot  altogether, 
as  I  do  oftener  than  not." 

A  blush  of  burning  shame  rises  over  the  widow's 

o 

face.  She  has  made  a  good  deal  of  small  capital,  one 
way  or  another,  out  of  Belinda's  high  birth  to  Roger, 
who  is  somewhat  unduly  sensitive  about  his  future 
wife's  connections,  generally.  The  Earl  of  Lisk- 
eard's  granddaughter — so  like  the  Yansitart  family — 
without  being  regularly  pretty,  a  great  air  of  breed- 
ing, of  distinction  about  our  poor  little  Belinda,  et 
cetera.  And  now  to  find  her,  what  ?  Ragged,  dirty 
with  the  speech  and  manner  (this  is  Rose's  verdict, 
not  mine)  of  a  charity  school  child,  and  mentioning, 
actually  mentioning  before  a  gentleman,  the  indeli- 
cate word  "  barefoot." 

"  Our  dear  Belinda  wants  a  year  or  two  of  sound 
English  training,"  she  remarks,  in  a  tone  that  to 
Roger  sounds  dove-nice,  but  that  Belinda  remembers 
and  interprets  onlv  too  well.  "  That  is  the  worst  of 


86  A  VAGABOND  IIEROINE. 

continental  education  !  One  has  to  sacrifice  so  many 
good  solid  English  qualities  for  accomplishments. 
Still  in  these  days  a  girl  must  be  accomplished.  A 
couple  of  years  in  a  select  English  boarding-school 
will,  I  have  no  doubt,  render  Belinda  all  that  our 
fondest  wishes  could  desire." 

Belinda,  on  the  conclusion  of  this  little  tirade, 
looks  hard  into  her  stepmother's  eyes  for  a  moment 
or  two  ;  then,  shouldering  her  schist  era,  she  moves 
across  to  the  door. 

"  I  must  be  off,"  turning  and  bestowing  a  nod  full 
of  caustic  meaning  on  the  lovers.  "  And  unless  you 
want  me  to  join  some  gang  of  wandering  gypsy 
players,  as  I  have  often  thought  of  doing,  you  had 
better  not  talk  about  boarding-schools  any  more.  My 
accomplishments,  Captain  Temple,"  looking  with  an 
air  of  mock  modesty — "  Rose  talks  of  my  accomplish- 
ments, for  which  the  good  solid  English  qualities  have 
been  sacrificed  !  I  will  tell  you  what  they  are,  and  you 
shall  say  which  I  am  best  suited  for — a  booth  in  a 
Basque  fair,  or  a  select  English  boarding-school ! 
Paume  playing — 'tis  the  same  game,  Mr.  Jones  tells 
me,  as  your  English  fives — paume,"  checking  off  each 
accomplishment  on  her  dark,  slim  fingers  as  she  pro- 
ceeds, "bolero  dancing,  a  tolerable  acquaintance 
with  slang  in  four  languages  " — 

"  Belinda ! " 

"  Oh !  let  me  finish  the  list,  Rose !  Let  me  make 
the  best  of  myself  that  I  can  in  Captain  Temple's 
eyes.  Bolero-dancing,  slang,  paume^of  each  a  lit- 
tle. Knowledge,  learnt  practically,  of  how  to  keep 


A  VAGABOND  HEROINE.  87 

myself  and  dog  on  twenty  sous  a  day  board-wages. 
And  a  taste  for  bull-fights  so  strong,  oh  !  so  strong," 
this  with  unaffected  enthusiasm,  "that  I  would 
sooner  go  without  meat  for  a  fortnight  and  church 
for  a  year  than  miss  the  chance  of  going  to  one.  For 
further  particulars  apply  to  Mr.  Augustus  Jones." 

And  so  exit  Belinda,  whistling — yes,  Rose,  whist- 
ling; keep  from  fainting  if  you  can — as  she  goes. 

"  A  quaint  little  original,  our  future  daughter," 
says  Roger,  whose  eyes  have  certainly  opened  wider 
during  the  conclusion  of  Belinda's  tirade.  "  But  a 
good-hearted  child,  I'll  be  bound.  You  must  not  be 
too  hard  on  her,  Rose." 

"  I  hard  ! "  sighs  the  widow,  looking  at  him  re- 
proachfully. "  When  was  I  ever  hard  on  any  one  2 
If  you  knew,  Roger — .but  of  course  men  never  under- 
stand these  things — the  trial  that  poor  girl  has  al- 
ways been!  I  can  assure  you  I  lo'ok  upon  Belinda 
as  a  chastisement,  sent  to  rne  for  some  wise  purpose 
by  Providence." 

She  seats  herself  on  a  sofa,  discreetly  away  in  the 
half  light,  and  with  an  air  of  resignation  takes  out 
her  pocket-handkerchief.  "  I  have  made  sacrifices 
no  real  mother  would  have  made  for  her — can  I  ever 
forget  the  devoted,  blind  attachment  of  her  poor  dear 
papa  for  me?  Sending  her  away,  heaven  knows  at 
what  expense,  to  the  continent,  and  always  writing 
that  she  should  have  the  best  of  masters,  and  every- 
thing; and  now  this  is  the  result.  How  painfully 
plain  she  is." 

"Plain?     No,  Rosie,  anything  but  plain.     Belin- 


88  A  VAGABOND  HEROINE. 

da  is  just  at  that  awkward  age  when  one  does  not 
know  what  to  make  of  girls,  and  her  dress  is  not 
quite  like  other  people's,  is  it  ?  But  she  has  magnifi- 
cent eyes,  a-nd  a  pretty  hand." 

"  A  pretty  hand !  Belinda's  hands  pretty ! 
Why.  they  are  enormous,  six  and  three-quarters  at 
least,  two  sizes  bigger  than  mine,  and  as  brown,  but 
you  think  every  one  you  see  lovely,  Roger,"  says 
Rose  pettishly.  "  I  declare  one  might  just  as  well 
be  ugly  one's  self.  I  have  never  heard  you  speak  of 
any  woman  yet  that  you  could  not  find  something  to 
admire  in  her." 

"  And  all  because  of  you,  my  dearest !  "  cries 
Captain  Temple,  with  warmth.  "  "When  a  man  ad- 
mires one  woman  supremely,  can  you  not  imagine 
that  every  other  woman,  yes,  even  the  plainest,  must 
possess  something  fair  in  his  sight  for  her  sake  ? " 

He  comes  across  to  her,  stoops,  and  rests  his  hand 
on  his  betrothed's  fair  head.  It  is  a  favorite  action 
of  Roger's,  and  one  that  Rose  would  be  exceedingly 
well  pleased  to  see  him  abandon.  Who  can  tell 
what  horrible  trick  postiche  or  plait  may  not  play 
one  in  some  unguarded  moment  of  more  than  com- 
mon tenderness  ? 

"  Oh,  Roger,  how  can  you  ? "  She  shifts  a  little 
uneasily  from  his  touch.  "  Really  you  get  sillier  and 
sillier  every  day."  It  is  a  fixed  idea  of  the  widow's 
that  Roger  Temple's  feelings  for  her  are  precisely  of 
the  same  irrepressible  and  rapturous  nature  as  they 
were  when  he  was  a  boy  of  nineteen — a  happy,  fixed 
idea,  lightening  Roger's  courtship  more  than  he  wots 


A  VAGABOND  HEROINE.  89 

of.  "  Lucky,  I  am  sure,  that  Belinda  is  gone.  Do 
von  know  I  was  so  afraid  you  would  say  or  do  some- 
thing embarrassing  before  her!  How  do  I  look, 
Eoger  dear?  Tired  and  hideous,  don't  I  ?  Now  I 
insist  upon  your  telling  me  the  truth." 

How  do  I  look,  Roger  dear  ?  is  the  burden  ever 
of  their  love  scenes.  Compliments,  not  caresses,  are 
what  Rose's  heart  of  hearts  yearns  for ;  and  Roger, 
after  the  past  few  weeks'  apprenticeship,  finds  it  no 
very  difficult  task  to  frame  them.  To  have  to  pay 
compliments  to  the  same  woman  during  six  or  eight 
hours  of  every  consecutive  day,  would,  in  most  cases, 
be  a  tolerably  severe  strain  on  a  man's  imaginative 
faculty.  Rose,  who  is  absolutely  without  imagina- 
tion herself,  requires  the  exercise  of  none  in  others. 
A  parrot  gets  no  more  wearied  with  its  own  eternal 
"  Pretty  Poll/'  than  does  poor  Rosie  of  the  eternal, 
pointless,  stereotyped  commonplaces  of  flattery. 

"You  look  charming,  Rose.  I  never  saw  you 
look  better.  Your  eyes  are  as  bright — "  Roger  does 
not  find  a  simile  come  readily  to  his  hand,  but  Rose 
is  content  to  take  his  good  intentions  on  trust. 
"  And  your  dress — all  these  lavender  frills  and  this 
white  lace  !  Rosie,  how  is  it  that  you  always  man- 
age to  wear  prettier  dresses  than  any  other  woman 
in  the  world  ?  " 

He  must  have  asked  her  the  same  question,  on  a 
moderate  calculation,  about  two  hundred  times  since 
they  were  first  engaged.  At  this  moment  he  knows 
how  often  he  has  asked  it,  and  the  precise  fluttering 
of  denial,  and  little  bewitching,  foolish  laugh  with 


00  A  VAGABOND  HEROINE. 

which  Rosie  will  respond.  And  he  sighs ;  if  he  had 
courage  to  relieve  his  soul  in  the  way  nature  prompts, 
would  yawn.  Terrible  point  in  a  love  affair  when 
we  have  learned  to  disguise  a  yawn  under  a  sigh ; 
terrible  point  in  a  love  affair  when  we  have  learned 
to  disguise  anything ! 

"  I  shall  be  quite  unhappy  about  my  dresses  if 
they  do  not  arrive  soon,"  Rose  goes  on  presently 
"  Ten  large  cases,  you  remember.''  Does  not  Roger 
remember  those  awful  ten  cases  well ;  in  Paris,  Bor- 
deaux, everywhere  ?  "  And  a  bit  of  blue  ribbon  on 
each.  There  can  be  no  mistake  if  the  railway  peo- 
ple are  honest,  but  abroad  one  never  knows.  I'm 
sure  nothing  would  have  been  easier  than  for  Be- 
linda to  run  back  to  the  station ;  still,  she  did  not 
offer,  and  in  my  delicate  position  as  a  stepmother,  I 
have  never  required  the  slightest  attention  from  the 
poor  girl.  Oh,  Roger,"  Rose's  hand  is  in  her  lover's 
now,  and  he  is  beside  her  on  the  sofa,  "  if  I  dared, 
how  much  I  should  like  to  tell  you  a  secret — some- 
thing we  are  all  concerned  in  !  " 

Roger's  natural  reply  is,  what  should  prevent  her 
telling  it  ?  Ought  there  to  be  any  secret,  present  or 
to  come,  between  persons  whose  lives,  like  theirs,  are 
to  be  spent  in  one  long,  delightful  confidence? 
"  Well,  then — I'm  a  very  naughty  girl,  I  know," 
Rose  avows  kittenishly,  "and  I  dare  say  you  will 
scold  me  sadly,  but  I've  been  match-making !  It  is 
not  quite  by  accident  that  Mr.  Augustus  Jones  is  in 
St.  Jean  de  Luz !  " 

"Accident  or  no  accident,  the  fact  is  a  deuced 


A  VAGABOND  HEROINE.  91 

unpleasant  one,"  remarks  Captain  Temple.  "  How 
or  why  Mr.  Jones  came  here  is  Mr.  Jones's  own  con- 
cern, but  the  bore  of  having  to  encounter  him !  I 
really  did  hope,  Rose,  that  we  had  seen  the  last  of 
that  atrocious  man  when  we  left  London." 

"You  are  prejudiced  against  him,  sir.  I'm  afraid 
you  don't  like  poor  Augustus  because  he  was  a  little 
too  attentive  to  me." 

"  Eose ! " 

"  Oh,  come,  Roger,  I  know  what  your  ruling 
passion  is,  and  always  has  been.  The  green-eyed 
monster,  sir — " 

"  Rosie,  I  swear — r 

"  Well,  we  cannot  help  these  things,  my  dear;  I 
am  ridiculously  without  jealousy  myself.  Poor 
Major  O'Shea  often  said  he  wished  he  could  see  me 
a  little  more  jealous,  but  I  can  make  every  allowance 
for  it  in  others.  I  ought,  I  am  sure,"  adds  Rose, 
with  a  reminiscent  sigh.  "  I  ought  to  be  able  to  bear 
all  the  jealous  suspiciousness  of  men's  natures  after 
the  experience  I  have  had  ! '' 

There  is  silence  for  a  minute,  and  any  one  watch- 
ing Roger  Temple's  face  attentively  might  discern 
there  a  good  deal  the  look  of  a  man  who  is  trying  to 
repress  his  weariness  under  the  perpetual,  exacting 
babble  of  a  child.  "I  don't  think  you  judge  of  me 
quite  correctly,  Rose,"  he  remarks  after  a  time. 
''  Who  ever  judges  another  correctly  ?  Who  can 
read  but  by  his  own  light  ?  We  were  talking  of  Mr. 
Jones,  were  we  not?  Ah,  yes,  and  you  think  me 
jealous  of  Jones !  So  be  it  my  dear.  Poor  little 


92  A  VAGABOND  HEROINE. 

Rosie,"  he  bends  forward  and  salutes  the  widow's 
cheek — very  tenderly,  I  may  almost  say  fearfully. 
Roger  is  better  acquainted  with  feminine  weakness, 
as  regards  rice  powder  especially,  than  he  was  on 
that  first  fatal  night  at  Brompton.  "  And  now  what 
about  this  grand  secret  of  yours  ?  You  have  been 
match-making,  have  you  ?  I  hope  you  don't  mean  to 
marry  our  litle  daughter  Belinda  to  Mr.  Augustus 
Jones  ? " 

"  He  would  be  an  extremely  nice  husband  for  her, 
from  a  worldly  point  of  view,"  says  Rose,  turning 
over  and  over  the  diamond,  a  gift  of  Roger's  that 
rests  on  her  plump  third  finger.  "  And  as  to  educa- 
tion— old  Mr.  Jones  was  sensible  of  his  own  deficien- 
cies, and  had  his  son  coached  up  by  the  most  expen- 
sive tutors.  Any  one  hearing  Augustus  talk  would 
say  that  he  was  quite  well  educated  enough — for  a 
married  man." 

"  And  presentable  enough,  refined  enough  ?  The 
sort  of  husband  a  girl  could  not  only  love,  but  be 
proud  of?  Well,  Rosie,  manage  it  as  you  choose. 
If  you  like  Mr.  Jones,  and  if  Belinda  likes  Mr.  Jones, 
you  may  be  sure  that  I  shall  not  forbid  the  banns." 

"  Ah,  there  is  the  difficulty.  Belinda  does  not 
like  Mr.  Jones.  Belinda  and  I  never  liked  the  same 
thing  or  person  yet."  Poor  Rosie,  if  the  mantle  of 
prophecy  could  but  fall  upon  her  shoulders  at  this 
moment !  "  But  you  could  help  me  so  much,  dear, 
if  you  would — and  you  will,  I  know? ''  upraising  her 
eyes  coaxingly  to  her  lover's.  "  You  will  help  me  in 
my  plans  for  Belinda's  happiness?  It  was  all 


A  VAGABOND  HEROINE.  93 

through  me,  Roger — don't  be  cross  with  me  if  I  con- 
fess the  truth — it  was  all  through  me  that  Mr.  Jones 
came  to  St.  Jean  de  Luz. 

"  Through  you  that  Mr.  Jones  came  to  St.  Jean 
de  Luz !  And  why  should  I  be  cross  with  you,  you 
little  goose  ?  '' 

Rosie  talks  like  a  girl  of  sixteen :  Roger  treats 
her  like  a  girl  of  sixteen — yet  is  sensible,  mournfully 
sensible,  ever,  of  the  grotesqueness  of  so  doing. 

"  You  see,  I  knew  that  Augustus  was  anxious  to 
marry.  I  suspected,  feared,"  says  Rose,  with  modest 
grace,  "  that  his  hopes  in  same  directions  might  have 
been  just  a  little  blighted,  and  the  thought  struck 
me — as  he  was  going  abroad  and  had  asked  me  to 
plan  his  tour  for  him — the  thought  struck  me  to 
bring  him  and  Belinda  together.  What  he  wants  is 
connection,  what  she  wants  is  money — " 

"  But  Belinda  is  a  child  still,"  interrupts  Roger 
Temple.  "  You  are  building  all  these  castles  in  the 
air,  dear,  kind  little  soul  that  you  are,  Rosie,  for  her 
good,  but  the  thing  is  ridiculous.  Belinda's  home 
must  be  with  us  for  the  next  three  or  four  years. 
Ample  time,  then,  to  begin  match-making.  How 
could  a  child  of  her  age  possibly  decide,"  goes  on 
honest  Roger — "  how  could  an  innocent-hearted  child 
of  Belinda's  age  possibly  decide  whether  she  ought 
or  ought  not  to  sell  herself  for  the  so  many  thousands 
a  year  of  a  snob  like  Jones  ?  " 

"  Roger,  my  dear,"  answers  Rose  in  her  sweetest, 
most  angelic  tones — whenever  she  is  annoyed,  Mrs. 
O'Shea's  angelic  proclivities  become  more  marked  j 


94  A  VAGABOND  HEROINE. 

"  excuse  me  if  I  tell  you  that  all  those  romantic  ideas 
about  '  selling  one's  self  for  money '  are  out  of  date. 
Belinda  never  was  a'  child.  Belinda  has  not  one 
youthful  sentiment  belonging  to  her ;  and  as  to  inno- 
cence, poor  thing! — you  heard  what  she  said  about 
bull-fights,  without  fainting!  Those  fine,  interest- 
ing-looking fellows  in  such  danger,  and  the  horrid 
bulls  goring  everybody.  I'm  sure  to  see  a  picture, 
to  read  a  description  of  one,  is  sickening  enough." 

"  A  matter  of  custom  and  nerve,  Rosie.  I  have 
known  some  English  women  capable  of  worse  cruelty 
than  being  present  at  a  bull-fight." 

"  And  the  very  best  thing  for  the  girl's  safety 
and  our  peace  of  mind  will  be  to  get  her  respectably 
settled  as  quickly  as  possible.  My  own  opinion  of 
Belinda — I  would  say  so  to  no  one  but  you,  Roger — 
is  that  she  is  without  heart.  And  a  woman  without 
heart—" 

But  the  generalization  is  opportunely  cut  short 
by  the  arrival  of  the  boxes  and  blue  ribbons.  In 
her  joy  over  her  recovered  finery,  Rosie  forgets  all 
other  human  considerations ;  and  her  lover,  with 
orders  only  to  smoke  one  cigar,  and  to  be  back  at 
the  post  of  duty  in  an  hour  at  latest,  recovers  a 
breathing  space  of  liberty. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

"  MRS.  GRUNDY,  SIR  !  " 

PINE-WOOD  ballroom,  wide  open  on  three 
sides  to  the  sea,  an  orchestra  composed  of  harp 
and  piano,  a  second  smaller  room  for  ecarte 
and  tresillio;  such  is  the  St.  Jean  de  Luz  Cas- 
ino. Hither  evening  after  evening  resorts  as  motley 
a  crowd  as  you  will  anywhere  meet  in  your  travels  ; 
the  bluest  blood  of  Castile  side  by  side  with  Jew  shop- 
keepers from  Burgos,  heads  crowned  and  decrowned, 
wandering  artists,  respectabilities  and  other-respect- 
abiliti&3,  all  jostled  together  in  the  delightful  repub- 
licanism of  watering-place  life.  Hither,  when  the 
absence  of  Miss  Burke  gives  her  freedom  by  night  as 
well  as  by  day,  comes  Belinda. 

Not  within  the  precincts,  sacred  to  payers,  of  the 
ballroom.  A  terrace  of  sand  extends  round  the  whole 
area  of  the  building;  and  from  this  terrace  Belinda, 
with  other  waifs  and  estrays  like  herself,  is  accus- 
tomed to  watch  the  dancers,  the  dresses,  the  pretty 
women,  the  flirtations  inside — I  am  afraid  not  with- 
out some  occasional  sharp  pangs  of  envy  at  her  heart. 


96  A  VAGABOND  HEROINE. 

Once,  and  once  only,  has  the  poor  little  girl  been 
asked  to  dance.  Maria  Jose  de  Seballos,  the  bering- 
ed  and  bergamotted  young  Seville  wine  merchant, 
who,  as  we  have  seen,  still  holds  a  place  in  her 
dreams,  did  on  one  never-to-be-forgotten  evening,  the 
last  before  he  left  St.  Jean  de  Luz,  invite  her  for  a 
waltz.  And  Belinda,  in  her  shabby  dress  and  espa- 
drilles,  was  for  the  space  of  about  eight  minutes  in 
paradise,  whirling,  blissfully  whirling,  among  ladies 
in  silks  and  flowers  and  jewels,  the  arm  of  the  real 
grown-up  partner  supporting  her,  the  whispers, 
sweet  to  vanity  though  redolent  of  garlic  to  the 
senses,  of  a  real  grown-up  partner  in  her  ear  ! 

Such  a  stroke  of  fortune,  she  knows,  is  not  likely 
to  befall  her  again.  Maria  Jose  talked  nonsense  to 
her  in  plenty  (such  nonsense  as  men  of  all  nations  do 
talk  when  they  dance  with  unfledged  girls),  bade  her 
remember  him  in  her  prayers  till  the  day  came  when 
he  should  return  and  carry  her  away  for  good  to 
Seville,  and  so  on.  But  Maria  Jose,  let  Belinda 
dream  as  she  may,  is  gone  forever.  Mr.  Jones,  the 
only  other  young  man  she  knows  in  the  world,  does 
not  dance  round  dances,  and  certainly  would  not 
choose  a  partner  in  a  black  frock  and  frayed-out  san- 
dals if  he  did.  Her  lot  in  life  is  to  look  on — a  wall- 
flower not  yet  seventeen — with  pulses  beating  madly 
to  the  music,  and  nimble  feet  that  will  not  hold 
themselves  still,  and  eyes  that  say  "Dance  with  me, 
dance  with  me,"  to  ah1  the  smart  young  gentlemen, 
as  they  lounge  up  and  down  the  ball-room !  Smart 
young  gentlemen  who,  if  they  see  Belinda  at  all.  see 


A  VAGABOND  HEROINE.  97 

in  her  only  an  ugly  child  in  pigtails  and  a  torn  frock, 
and  whose  coldly  indifferent  glances  her  heart,  older 
than  her  looks,  is  not  slow  to  interpret. 

She  haunts  the  terrace,  as  is  her  wont,  Costa  at 
her  heels,  between  nine  and  ten  o'clock  of  the  first 
evening  of  Rose's  arrival.  It  is  an  unusually  gay 
little  ball  at  the  Casino  ;  some  near  connection  of 
ex-Spanish  royalty  present ;  and  the  dancing-room  is 
thronged.  Swan-like  throats  and  delicate  complexions 
from  Madrid,  oriental  eyes  and  Titian-like  coloring 
from  Seville,  marble  whiteness  and  chiselled  Grecian 
features  from  Cadiz.  Oh,  what  pretty  women  these 
Spaniards  are,  what  a  jest  is  life  to  them  !  A  song,  a 
waltz,  a  flirtation  in  their  earlier  years,  and  then  tre- 
sillio  and  prayers  to  the  end.  As  responsible,  exam- 
ination-passing, degree-taking  human  creatures,  wom- 
en of  Anglo-Saxon  race  have  everything  to  be  proud 
of,  thankful  for.  But  knowing  nothing,  like  children, 
and  like  children  enjoying  everything,  how  thorough- 
ly, unconsciously  charming  are  these  soft-faced  wom- 
en of  the  South ! 

They  are  in  full  dress,  almost  without  exception, 
this  evening.  On  occasion,  when  a  Parisian  woman 
of  fashion  will  drape  her  meagre  charms  to  the  chin, 
a  Spanish  one  will  invariably  appear  bravely  bare- 
shouldered.  And  this  not  in  the  ballroom  or  on  the 
balcony  only.  Of  a  moonlight  night,  here  in  St. 
Jean  de  Luz,  you  will  meet  them  by  dozens,  full 
dressed,  yes,  and  in  satin  slippers,  with  flowers  in 
their  hair,  calmly  promenading  along  the  streets  or 
in  the  public  gardens  of  the  town.  And  what  a  be- . 

5 


98  A  VAGABOND  HEROINE. 

coming  full  dress  it  is  !  The  national  veil  and  high 
comb,  a  la  manola,  which  a  short  time  back  were 
things  well-nigh  of  the  past  throughout  the  Penin- 
sula, are  the  highest  mode  among  the  Spanish  aris- 
tocracy to-day.  So  can  the  party  whose  motto  is 
"  Fuera  d  estrangero ''  mutely  protest  against  the  in- 
truder now  profaning  the  sacred  throne  of  the  Cas- 
tiles.  How  fervently  every  painter  must  hope  that 
no  political  revulsion  will  send  graceful  malcontents 
back  to  the  trailing  skirts  and  towering  head-gear 
and  ever-changing  milliners'  modes,  each  one  more 
inartistic  than  the  last,  of  Paris  and  London. 

"  They  are  not  exactly  bad-looking,"  says  Rose, 
glancing  about  her  coldly ;  "  not  quite  such  an  orange 
yellow  as  I  expected.  But  their  style  is  distressingly 
theatrical,  is  it  not,  Mr.  Jones !  "  Rosie  has  come 
to  the  Casino  ball  well  escorted ;  Mr.  Jones,  who  is 
also  staying  at  the  Hotel  Isabella,  on  one  side,  hei 
legitimate  slave — I  mean  her  future  lord  and  master 
— on  the  other.  "  Captain  Temple,"  she  runs  on  to 
Roger,  "  you  say  you  think  these  creatures  hand- 
some !  How  would  you  like  to  see  any  one  you 
cared  for,  any  English  woman,  dance  in  public  with 
a  bare  neck  and  short  skirt,  as  they  do  ? " 

"  The  short  skirts  display  admirable  ankles, 
Rose,"  replies  Roger.  "Are introductions  necessary 
in  these  parts  of  the  world,  I  wonder?  I  should 
like  to  tempt  my  fate  with  that  little  blonde  in  pink 
satin,  if  I  dared.  Or  will  you  waltz  with  me  your- 
self, Rosie  ? ''  In  a  whisper  this.  "  For  the  sake  of 
•  old  days,  my  love  !  We  have  never  waltzed  together 


A  VAGABOND  HEROINE.  99 

since  that  night — you  remember  ? — at  the  Hanover 
Square  Rooms." 

But  Rosie,  a  good  many  years  ago,  gave  up 
round  dancing,  finding  that  exercise,  indeed,  phys- 
ically incompatible  with  the  maintenance  of  a  waist 
of  twenty-two  inches.  She  enforces  her  position 
now  upon  the  very  rigidest  moral  and  aesthetic 
grounds. 

"  I  never  waltz,  on  principle,  Roger.  I  do  not 
approve  of  fast  dances.  I  think  it  the  worst  possible 
taste  for  a  woman  who  has  experienced  the  serious 
sorrows  of  life  to  take  part  in  such  frivolity.  But 
dance,  pray,  if  you  like.  Think  of  your  own  amuse- 
ment, not  of  mine.  I  understood  that  we  came  here 
to  look  on.  But  it  does  not  matter.  Nothing  mat- 
ters. Amuse  yourself !  I  dare  say  Mr.  Jones  will 
not  mind  having  to  take  care  of  me  while  you  are 
away." 

Tears  are  in  Mrs.  O'Shea's  eyes,  and  Roger,  of 
course,  remains.  It  is  no  very  great  sacrifice  for 
him  to  make.  The  little  blonde  in  pink  satin  is 
distractingly  pretty;  she  is  glancing  at  him  above 
her  fan  at  this  moment.  But  a  man  who  has  passed 
the  dozen  best  years  of  his  life  in  Madras  can  scarcely 
be  enthusiastic  about  waltzing  with  the  thermometer 
at  ninety-eight.  And  it  is  better — a  dozen  times 
daily  Roger  tells  himself  this — better  far  to  get  bro- 
ken thoroughly  and  at  once  to  the  bit  which  he  has 

O        v 

voluntarily  taken  between  his  teeth.  A  man  choos- 
ing a  bride  of  Rosie?s  age  must  learn  to  "  look  on" 
at  most  of  life's  amusements,  and  by  her  side.  Poor 


100  A  VAGABOND  HEROINE. 

Rosie !  Would  the  dear  little  woman  be  as  dear,  as 
lovable,  as  thoroughly  a  woman  as  she  is,  if  she  pos- 
sessed strength  of  mind  sufficient  to  be  devoid  of 
jealousy  ?  Is  he  not  only  too  lucky  a  fellow  to  have 
won  her,  charming  feminine  weaknesses  and  all,  as 
his  own  ? 

The  dear  little  woman,  though  she  will  not  accord 
the  objectionable  pleasure  of  waltzing  to  her  lover, 
sees  no  evil  in  an  occasional  mild  flirtation  or  two  on 
her  own  account.  Augustus  Jones  is  her  devoted 
attendant.  Augustus  introduces  ere  long  some  other 
young  Britons,  much  of  his  own  stamp,  picked  up 
at  the  table  d'hote  of  the  Hotel  Isabella.  Rose  is 
"surrounded;'5  Frenchmen  and  Spaniards  turning 
to  look  at  the  passee  pretty  English  woman  as  she 
smiles  and  chirrups,  and  casts  up  her  eyes  with  all 
the  well-considered  airs  and  graces  of  mature  coquetry, 
at  her  loud-talking  young  compatriots. 

Roger  takes  himself  quietly  off  among  the  crowd. 
Waltz  he  will  not,  as  Rosie  on  such  high  grounds 
disapproves  of  waltzing;  but  though  his  limbs  be 
fettered,  no  embargo  as  yet  is  laid  upon  his  eyesight. 
For  a  short  time  longer  in  this  mortal  life  Roger 
Temple  may  at  least  admire.  He  comes  across  the 
blonde  in  pink  satin,  whose  eyes  and  fan  make  play 
at  him  as  only  the  eyes  and  fan  of  a  Spanish  woman 
can ;  comes  across  other  blondes,  other  brunettes. 
Finally  he  reaches  the  end  of  the  room  that  stands 
open  to  the  seashore,  goes  outside  for  a  breath  of 
cooler  air,  probably  not  without  dreams  of  a  consola- 


A  VAGABOND  HEROINE.  1Q1 

tory  pipe  under  the  starlight,  and  finds  himself  face 
to  face  with  his  future  daughter. 

"  What,  Belinda,  my  dear !  Alone  in  the  dark 
and  no  partner  ?  Let  me  take  you  in  to  Eosie." 

"  Not  if  I  know  it,  sir !  I  come  here  to  watch 
the  amusement  of  my  betters,  not  to  show  myself. 
Think  of  Eose's  face  of  horror  if  I  walked  across  the 
ballroom  to  her  like  this  ! "  holding  out  a  fold  of  her 
ragged  frock  with  a  gesture  in  which  there  is  to  the 
full  as  much  pride  as  humility. 

"  Eose  is  much  too  kind-hearted  to  take  notice  of 
your  dress,"  says  Eoger.  "  All  Eosie  cares  for  is  to 
see  other  people  made  happy." 

"  H'm.  I  see  you  are  an  excellent  judge  of  char- 
acter, Captain  Temple ! " 

"  And  then  she  could  introduce  you  to  partners — 
I  take  it  for  granted  you  like  dancing  ?  Eosie  has 
got  hold  of  some  young  men  from  the  hotel,  who 
would,  I  am  sure,  be  only  too  happy — " 

"  To  take  pity  on  my  forlorn  condition,  if  my 
mamma  did  her  best  to  make  them !  Captain  Tem- 
ple, do  you  think  seriously  I  would  dance  with  any 
of  those  horrible  English  snobs  Eose  is  talking  to  ? " 

"  One  of  those  horrible  English  snobs  is  the  rich 
Mr.  Jones,"  says  Eoger,  stroking  his  moustache,  and 
remembering  the  lesson  in  match-making  he  received 
before  dinner  from  Eose.  "I  thought  Mr.  Jones 
was  an  admirer  of  yours,  Belinda  ? "  he  adds,  looking 
inquiringly  into  the  girl's  upturned  face. 

"An  admirer — I  suppose  Eose  told  you  that? 


102  A  VAGABOND  HEROINE. 

As  if  I  went  in  for  admirers — I !  Do  I  look  as  if 
that  kind  of  rubbish  was  in  my  line  of  life  ? " 

Roger  hesitates.  His  heart  goes  out  toward  this 
poor  neglected  child,  with  her  tattered  clothes  and 
shaky  morals,  and  sweet,  imploring  woman's  eyes ; 
but  with  the  best  will  in  the  world  he  linds  it  diffi- 
cult to  be  kind  to  her — every  look,  every  tone,  every 
smallest  gesture  of  Belinda  O'Skea's  so  utterly  sets 
patronage  or  compassion  at  defiance. 

"And  Mr.  Jones  cannot  dance  round  dances," 
she  goes  on  presently ;  "  they  send  the  blood  to  his 
'ead.  Captain  Temple,"  her  voice  softening  in  a 
moment,  a  wistful,  pleading  expression  coming  round 
her  lips,  "  do  round  dances  send  the  blood  to  your 
'ead,  I  wonder  ? " 

Roger  has  a  flower  in  his  button-hole,  an  oleander 
bud,  abstracted  for  him  by  the  fair  lingers  of  his 
betrothed  from  one  of  the  bouquets  upon  the  dinner 
table.  And  as  she  speaks,  Belinda,  \vith  all  a  child's 
ignprance  of  shame,  removes  this  flower  from  its 
place,  raises  it  an  instant  to  her  face,  then  fastens  it 
in  the  waist  belt  of  her  own  dress. 

"  Do  round  dances  send  the  blood  to  your  'ead, 
Captain  Temple  ?  I  should  so  like  a  waltz  if  you 
will  have  one  with  me  ! " 

"  If — why  of  course  I  will,  my  dear  child  !  You 
should  have  asked  me  sooner.  Hark,  there  is  a 
waltz  beginning  now.  We  shall  be  just  in  time." 

He  forgets  Rose  and  Rosie's  strong  opinion  as  to 
fast  dancing,  forgets  that  Belinda  is  still  in  the  dis- 
graceful frock  and  ill-matched  stockings,  forgets 


A  VAGABOND  HEROINE.  1Q3 

everything  but  the  child's  wistful,  pleading  face! 
One  waltz,  poor  little  girl  I  Ay,  and  as  many  more 
as  she  chooses,  thinks  kind-hearted  Roger.  And 
takes  her  hand  and  leads  her  bravely  within  under 
the  gas  lights,  and  among  the  silks  and  satins — yes, 
close  to  the  owner  of  the  pink  satin  and  the  fan, 
whose  blue  eyes  glance  at  him  no  longer. 

"  I  may  as  well  ,take  iny  hat  off  though,"  cries 
Belinda,  preparing  to  start  without  loss  of  time. 
"Hi!  Costa  boy,  guard !" 

She  flings  back  her  ragged  hat  to  the  old  dog, 
who  ever  since  Roger's  appearance  upon  the  scene 
has  been  watching  matters  suspiciously,  and  is  now 
peering  with  jealous  eyes  round  a  corner  of  one  of 
the  doors.  Then  she  puts  her  slim,  sunburnt  hand 
upon  Captain  Temple's  arm. 

'•  I  asked  you  to  dance  just  to  try  you,"  she  whis- 
pers, when  they  have  gone  once  or  twice  round  the 
room.  "I  thought — yes,  and  I  hoped — you  would 
be  too  ashamed  to  be  seen  with  me,  and  then  I 
should  have  had  a  good  excuse  for  hating  you.  But 
you  were  not.  You  are  a  better  fellow  at  heart  than 
I  took  you  for,  although  you  are — '' 

"Although  I  am — what,  my  dear?" 

"  I  wish  you  would  leave  off  calling  me  my  dear, 
and — and  I  can  never  talk  when  I  am  dancing,"  says 
Belinda  illogical  ly. 

"  At  all  events  you  have  not  made  up  your  mind 
to  hate  me  yet  ? "  whispers  Roger  in  her  ear. 

Fate  lands  them,  when  the  waltz  is  over,  exactly 
opposite  Rosie  and  her  train  of  attendants.  And 


104:  A  VAGABOND  HEROINE. 

Roger  Temple,  for  the  first  time  certainly  in  his  life, 
feels  himself  a  coward.  Something  about  the  lips  of 
the  little  pink  and  white  woman  who  owns  him 
makes  him  tremble ;  yes,  tremble !  Let  men  who 
are  not  lovers  laugh,  in  the  flippant  levity  of  their 
souls,  if  they  will ! 

"  What  a  wax  Rosie  is  in,"  says  Belinda,  who 
possesses  to  the  full  the  cruel  acumen  of  her  age.  "  I 
remember  that  particular  smile  of  hers  so  well.  It 
always  came  before  my  worst  whippings." 

Roger  is  silent.  That  his  Rose  possesses  some 
few  thorns  he  knows ;  innocuous  feminine  prickles 
of  jealousy,  vanity,  and  the  like.  How  if  little  tem- 
pers be  added  to  the  list  ?  The  little  tempers  of  an 
exacting  woman  of  for — .  But  no,  not  even  in  im- 
agination will  Roger's  chivalrous  heart  go  within  a 
hundred  miles  of  that  obnoxious  numeral ! 

He  shifts  the  subject,  and  puts  off  the  lecture  that 
he  knows  to  be  in  store  for  him  by  proposing  that 
they  shall  go  outside  again.  "  Does  Belinda  mind 
the  smell  of  a  pipe  ?  If  not — " 

"  Mind  ! ''  the  girl  interrupts  him.  "  Now,  just 
once  and  for  all,  Captain  Temple,  understand  this — 
Belinda  minds  nothing !  What  do  you  pay  for  to- 
bacco in  England  ?  Sixteen  shillings,  twenty  francs, 
a  pound  ?  Well,  the  next  time  I  go  to  Truro,  if  I 
can  only  run  the  custom-house,  I  shall  bring  you 
back  some  real  Spanish  in  my  pocket.  Cheating  the 
government  ?  Oh,  we  don't  trouble  our  heads  about 
governments  in  this  country.  We  smuggle  what- 
ever we  can,  and  are  thankful.  You  save  one  franc 


A  VAGABOND  HEROINE.  105 

fifty  on  the  pound  of  tobacco,  and  get  a  better  weed, 
sir,  into  the  bargain.'' 

They  go  outside,  where  Costa,  bearing  the  hat 
between  his  teeth,  joins  them :  he  lays  it  down  at 
the  feet  of  his  little  mistress,  and  with  a  low,  half- 
impatient,  half-loving  bark,  thrusts  his  nose  beneath 
her  hand  for  a  caress. 

"  This  is  the  best  friend  I  have  on  earth,  Captain 
Temple.  He  would  pull  you  down — oh,  as  soon  as 
look  at  you,  if  I  held  up  my  finger.  Would  you 
not,  Costa?" 

Costa,  at  this  appeal,  moves  stealthily  round  to 
Roger  Temple  and  criticises  his  heels  dog  fashion. 

"  Here,  poor  fellow,  here,  Costa ! ''  says  Roger, 
holding  out  his  hand. 

And,  wonder  of  wonders  to  Belinda,  Costa 
crouches,  fawns,  licks  it.  Evidently,  whether  she 
likes  her  father's  successor  or  not — and  she  is  doing 
her  best,  yes,  did  her  best,  throughout  every  moment 
of  the  waltz,  to  detest  him — Costa  means  to  accept 
Roger  Temple  as  a  friend. 

She  calls  the  dog  off  instantly.  "  I  did  not  think 
you  would  fawn  on  new-comers,  Costa — down  with 
you,  down !  I  want  none  of  your  hypocritical  atten- 
tions. You  are  the  first  of  my  stepmamma's  favor- 
ites I  have  ever  known  Costa  speak  to,  sir.  You 
should  see  his  delicious  hatred  of  Burke  and  Mr. 
Jones." 

"  Ah,  dogs  understand  some  matters  better  than 
we  understand  them,  Belinda.  Costa  has  seen  too 


5* 


106  A  VAGABOND  HEROINE. 

much  of  life  to  put  all  men  in  the  same  category,  as 
you  do." 

They  saunter  forth  into  the  night,  side  by  side ; 
this  southern  night  which  is  but  a  whiter,  more  vo- 
luptuous day,  balmy  as  an  English  summer  noon — air 
so  clearly  lustrous  that  every  remotest  object  on  sea 
and  land  stands  out,  as  though  'twere  chiselled  in  sil- 
ver, against  the  profound  purple  of  the  sky. 

Roger  Temple  lights  his  pipe  and  begins — a  lit- 
tle way  Roger  has  in  most  feminine's  society — to  feel 
his  heart  grow  soft.  Belinda  whistles. 

"  "Will  you  take  my  arm,  my  dear  ?  I  beg  your 
pardon,  I  must  try  not  to  disobey  orders  again,  but 
you  see  I  cannot  help  forestalling  events,  somewhat/' 

"  Forestalling — what  do  you  mean  by  forestall- 
ing? "  says  Belinda,  turning  on  him  sharply.  "  At 
what  time  pray  of  my  life,  or  your  life,  or  anybody's 
life,  are  Captain  Temple  and  Belinda  O'Shea  going 
to  be  so  wonderfully  affectionate  to  each  other,  so 
wonderfully  familiar  ? " 

"  "Well,  I  should  hope  when  they  live  under  the 
same  roof  together,"  answers  Roger  kindly.  "  Be- 
fore very  long,  yes,  before  many  more  weeks  are 
past,  you  must  know  that  I  look  forward  to  3Tour 
staying  with  us  for  good,  Belinda.  You  have  had 
quite  enough,  I  think,  I — I  mean  Rosie  thinks — of 
Miss  Burke's  protection.  Surely  you  will  allow  me 
to  speak  to  you  as  I  should  to  my  own  little  daugh- 
ter then  ? " 

"  Your  daughter  !  I  am  nobodv's  daughter  !  " 
she  cries  quickly.  "  I  hate  the  sound  of  the  word. 


A  VAGABOND  HEROINE.  107 

I  hate  step-relationships.  There  was  a  time,  once — 
but  now  I  have  no  one  on  the  face  of  the  earth  I  love 
— I  want  no  one !  And  as  to  living  with  you  and 
Rose — I  prefer  knocking  about  the  world  with  Burke, 
by  long  odds  thank  you.  We  are  '  Miss  Burke '  and 
'Miss  O'Shea'  always.  We  don't  like  each  other, 
and  we  don't  pretend  we  do  !  We  are  not  any  kind 
of  relations,  or  step-relations,  heaven  be  thanked  !  " 

The  bitterness,  the  suppressed  passion  of  her 
childish  voice,  do  but  soften  Roger's  heart  toward  her 
more  and  more.  "  Allow  me  to  offer  you  my  arm, 
Miss  O'Shea,  will  you  ?  " 

"  No,  I  thank  you,  Captain  Temple.  I  find  it 
quite  hot  enough  walking  alone.  We  are  not  used 
to  such  fine  manners,  are  we,  Costa,  in  our  class  of 
life? 

"  Pour  toute  la  nature 
Quand  boire  a  tant  d'appas  ? 
Pourquoi  la  creature 
Ne  boirait-elle  pas  ? 

Buvons,  chantons,  et  fetons  tour  a  tour, 
Et  1'ivresse,  1'ivresse,  1'ivresse  et  1'amour." 

Belinda  sings  out  these  delightful  optimist  senti- 
ments at  the  very  top  of  her  voice ;  then  races  away 
with  Costa  along  the  sandy  slopes.  When  Roger 
catches  her  up,  a  hundred  yards  or  so  further  on,  all 
the  gravity  of  her  mood  has  melted  into  the  wildest 
spirits. 

"  It  was  good  fun,  that  waltz  we  had,  down  at  the 
Casino,  Roger — if  you  call  me  'my  dear,'  why 
should  1  not  call  you  Roger,  '  steppapa  Roger?'  I 
enjoyed  it  all  the  more  because  I  knew  how  my  es- 


108  A  VAGABOND  HEROINE. 

pargottes  and  my  stockings  and  everything  about  me 
riled  Rosie  !  But  for  real  dancing — bah !  if  you 
want  to  see  that,  you  should  come  with  me  to  the 
Place  Ithurbida  and  see  how  the  peasant  girls  dance 
the  bolero.  It  is  not  the  third  of  a  kilo  away,  I  can 
hear  the  tambourines  from  this,  and  I'll  promise  to 
bring  you  back,  safe  and  sound,  Roger,  and  Rosie  is 
so  happy  with  her  young  men  !  " 

She  pleads  to  him,  the  soft  night  shining  on  her 
lips  and  eyes,  and  for  the  first  time  it  occurs  to  Roger 
Temple  that  this  wild  little  Arab  child  will  be  a 
pretty  girl  some  day. 

"  Take  me  where  yon  will,  Belinda.  I  do  not  be- 
lieve in  you  overmuch,  but  I  will  believe  in  Costa. 
I  am  sure  Costa  would  not  stand  quietly  by  and  see 
me  murdered." 

"  Ah,  that  shows  how  much  you  know  Cos- 
ta. Did  I  not  say  you  were  a  good  judge  of 
character  ?  However,  you  need  not  be  afraid.  If  I 
owed  my  enemy  a  grudge — mind,  I  only  say  'if  " — 
but  even  as  she  qualities  her  speech  thus,  malice  in- 
describable lurks  in  her  voice — "  if  I  owed  my  worst 
enemy  a  grudge,  I  would  sooner  let  him  live  his  fate 
out  than  put  an  end  to  his  sufferings  quickly  1 
However,  these  are  affairs  of  Spain,  Roger,  not  of 
yours  or  mine.  How  sentimentally  you  gaze  at 
everything!'1  He  is  gazing,  if  the  truth  be  told,  at 
her  face.  "  You  think  this  a  most  romantic  spot 
where  you  are  standing,  no  doubt  ?  " 

The  spot  is  romantic  in  its  own  rugged  way,  and 
seen  by  this  starlight,  which  flatters  old  nature  as  a 


A  VAGABOND  HEROINE.  1Q9 

court  portrait-painter  flatters  women's  faces.  A  broad 
Salvator-Rosa-looking  sierra  of  arid  turf,  dotted  here 
and  there  by  a  low  white  cross  or  stunted  cypress, 
and  with  the  dead  unbroken  blue  of  the  Atlantic  for 
background. 

"  You  are  standing  over  one  great  vault,  sir.  St. 
Jean  de  Luz  is  healthy  to  a  proverb,  the  Basque 
people  say — except  when  we  get  the  pestilence-!  Un- 
fortunately we  get  the  pestilence  pretty  often,  and 
then  we  have  to  be  buried,  not  by  ones  and  twos,  but 
dozens,  just  wherever  our  friends  can  find  room  to 
dig  trenches.  I  shall  bring  Rose  and  Mr.  Jones  up 
here  some  h'ne  evening,  make  them  sit  down  on  one 
of  these  dear  little  mounds,  and  go  into  dear  little 
raptures  about  the  beauties  of  the  climate  and  the 
scenery,  and  then  inform  them  that  they  are  sitting 
on  dead  men's  bones.  Bones  ? — whole  skeletons,  by 
scores !  Only  yesterday  I  saw  the  children  playing 
'fossette,'  I  don't  know  how  you  say  it  in  English, 
into  a  skull.'' 

"  And  so,  naturally,  the  place  is  a  favorite  haunt 
of  yours,"  remarks  Roger.  "  Just  the  kind  of  taste 
I  should  have  expected  from  a  person  of  your  grave 
and  melancholy  character." 

"I  would  sooner  keep  company  with  skulls  than 
fools,  any  day,"  retorts  the  girl,  with  a  shrug  of  her 
shoulders.  "  Perhaps  in  years  to  come,  when  you 
have  had  as  much  experience  of — of  different  varie- 
ties of  intellect  as  I  have,  you  will  come  to  the  same 
opinion." 

She  l«iads  the  way  down  a  rough  bullock-track  or 


HO  A  "VAGABOND  HEROINE. 

gully,  that  diverges  at  this  point  from  the  shore,  and 
a  few  minutes'  walking  brings  them  out  upon  the 
main  road  ;  ere  railroads  were,  the  world's  highway 
to  Spain,  but  seldom  traversed  now  save  by  outlying 
bands  of  Carlists,  or  by  the  baggage  mules  and  ox 
drays  of  the  country  people.  Straight  before  them 
are  the  mountains,  transparent  wondrous  violet  in 
the  shadows,  faint  alabaster  (for  the  moon  will  be 
here  anon)  along  the  crests.  The  river,  the  lights  of 
the  town  gleam  beneath.  From  the  Place  Ithurbida, 
a  thicket  of  olives  and  cork-trees  close  at  hand,  rise 
sounds  of  music;  barbaric,  blood-stirring  dance- 
music,  about  as  much  like  the  threadbare  Parisian 
tinkle-tinkle  of  the  Casino  waltzes  as  the  smell  of  the 
moorlands  in  September  is  like  a  barber's  shop. 

"Now  you  shall  see  dancing  in  earnest,"  says 
Belinda,  arching  her  slender  arms  cachuca  fashion 
above  her  head,  and  her  whole  lithe  figure  seeming 
to  become  instinct  on  the  moment  with  life  and 
music.  "  Tra,  la  la  la  la,  lira,  la  lira,  lira  !  " 

The  orchestra  is  composed  of  a  Basque  tambo- 
rine  and  bagpipe,  both  instruments  played  by  one 
old  woman  in  rags ;  with  castanet  accompaniment, 
ad  libitum,  from  the  fingers  of  the  performers.  The 
corps  de  ballet  consists  of  three  couples  of  men  and 
girls,  all  of  the  lowest  order  of  the  people,  not  a  shoe 
or  stocking  among  them,  but  "artistes,"  everyone, 
if  originality  and  fire,  joined  to  the  most  perfect 
power  of  expression,  the  most  finished  neatness  in 
execution,  may  be  said  to  constitute  art.  These 
Basques  dance  as  they  smuggle,  drink,  gamble,  with 


A  VAGABOND  HEROINE.  HI 

passion.  Money-seeking  as  the  French,  pleasure- 
loving  as  the  Spaniards,  every  hour  of  these  people's 
vivid  lives,  they  live.  Imagine  northern  peasants, 
for  pleasure,  after  a  summer  day's  toil,  dancing 
cachucas  and  fandangos  till  midnight ! 

Belinda,  at  Roger's  side,  remains  a  silent  specta- 
tor throughout  one  dance.  With  the  first  notes  of 
the  next  her  feet  begin  to  twinkle. 

"  This  is  the  Basque  bolero,  the  national  dance," 
she  whispers  to  him ;  "  but  there  are  none  of  the 
best  dancers  here  to-night.  You  should  see  the 
Gitanas  who  come  down  from  the  hill  country  at  fair- 
time,  or  " — little  witch,  as  if  the  thought  had  sud- 
denly struck  her  !  as  if  it  were  not  expressly  for  this 
that  she  had  lured  him  hither ! — "  or  you  should  see 
me.  Will  you  see  me  dance  a  bolero,  Captain  Tem- 
ple?" 

"  Some  time  or  another,  my  dear  child.  Some 
evening  at  Rosie's  hotel,  when — " 

"  Now,  this  moment,  out-of-doors,  to  real  Basque 
music,  or  never !  What,  do  you  think  I  would 
dance  a  bolero  on  a  floor,  with  Rose  shaking  her 
head  and  describing  how  nicely  the  young  ladies 
used  to  turn  their  toes  out  at  Miss  Ingrain's  ?  I 
dance  for  you,  sir,  now  or  never !  If  you  are  shocked, 
you  know  you  can  easily  walk  off  in  another  direction 
and  pretend  you  don't  belong  to  me." 

Her  slight  little  form  trips  away  into  an  open 
space  between  the  trees,  six  or  eight  yards  distant 
from  the  principal  performers;  and  there,  partner- 
less,  unashamed  as  was  ever  court  duchess  during 


112  A  VAGABOND  HEROINE. 

the  stately  performance  of  a  minuet,  the  Earl  of  Lisk- 
eard's  granddaughter  dances  her  bolero.  All  the 
originality  of  gesture,  the  supple  strength,  the  stay- 
ing power  of  the  peasants  Belinda  possesses  to  the 
full ;  but  she  possesses  something  more,  poor  child  ! 
— the  graces  born  of  mind  as  well  as  matter,  the 
delicate  exquisite  alternations  of  fire  and  languor 
which  are  the  very  poetry  of  true  dancing — and  of 
whose  seductive  charm  she  is  only  too  profoundly 
ignorant ! 

Roger  watches  her  with  pleasure  as  regards  the 
gratification  of  his  artistic  sense,  and  at  the  same 
time  with  curiously  poignant  pain.  He  has  lived 
too  long  in  India  not  to  be  reminded  of  Nautch 
girls  and  their  performances  by  this  kind  of  exhi- 
bition ;  and  Rosie's  animadversions  on  the  subject  of 
Belinda  return,  with  unpleasant  clearness,  to  his 
mind.  The  peasants,  with  the  perfect  natural  breed- 
ing that  characterizes  their  race,  take  no  further 
notice  of  the  child  than  by  a  smile  or  a  nod  as  they 
pass  her  in  the  evolutions  of  the  dance.  When  it  is 
over  they  seat  themselves  on  the  turf,  the  girls 
together,  the  men  a  little  apart,  and  all  begin  chat- 
ting in  that  liquid  bastard  Sanscrit  of  theirs  which 
of  itself  is  music.  Belinda  trips  gayly  back  to  Ro- 
ger's side. 

"  I  dance  tolerably  well — I  dance  better  than 
any  of  those  fine  die  away  Hermiones  and  Dolores 
at  the  Casino,  don't  I?"  she  exclaims,  holding  up 
her  eager  face  within  about  a  foot  of  Roger's  in  the 
moonlight. 


A  VAGABOND  HEROINE.  H3 

The  bolero  has  lent  new  animation  to  Belinda's 
expressive  features.  Her  deep  Irish  eyes  are  all 
aglow;  her  parted  lips  tremble.  Roger  Temple 
discovers  that  there  are  materials  not  only  for  a 
pretty,  but  for  a  very  pretty  girl  in  his  future  step- 
daughter, and  can  by  no  means  bring  himself  up  to 
the  sternly  virtuous  spirit  of  admonition  which 
would  befit  the  occasion. 

"  You  dance  a  vast  deal  too  well,  Belinda — too 
well  for  the  present  company,  I  mean." 

"  Ah,  those  are  your  English  prejudices — Mrs. 
Grundy,  sir !  I  heard  the  same  story  from  poor  Mr. 
Jones  this  morning.  My  '  company,'  as  you  call  it, 
is  every  bit  as  good  as  that  mob  of  Madrid  shop- 
keepers we  danced  among  at  the  Casino.  Don't  you 
know  that  the  Basques  are  a  people  of  nobles  ?  Why, 
the  very  beggars  wear  their  rags  with  an  air  that 
makes  you  feel  the  vulgarity  of  soap  and  water ;  and 
as  to  the  bullock-drivers — there  is  not  one  of  them  but 
has  a  pedigree — so  long !  and  who  feels,  yes,  and 
looks  noble,  every  inch  of  him.'' 

"  Then  let  the  Basque  nobles  dance  boleros  by 
themselves,"  says  Hoger.  "  I  am  of  a  jealous  dispo- 
sition, child.  It  does  not  please  me  that  your  pretty 
dances  and  your  pretty  self  should  be  at  the  mercy  of 
every  stranger  who  may  happen  to  pass  along  a  public 
roadway." 

Up  leaps  the  blood  into  her  brown  cheeks.  The 
reproof,  if  reproof  it  be,  savors  of  a  tenderness  to 
which  she  has  been  so  long  unused,  a  tenderness  that 
sinks  with  such  dangerous  sweetness  on  her  heart. 


A  VAGABOND  HEROINE. 

"  Do  I  dance  prettily  ? "  Her  eyes  for  the  first 
time  fall  beneath  his ;  she  trifles,  a  little  abashed, 
with  the  pomegranate  bud  in  her  waist-belt.  u  I 
made  you  come  here  because — oh,  because  I  wanted 
to  shock  you,  as  I  shock  Mr.  Jones  and  Rose.  But 
do  I  really  dance  prettily — better  than  the  peasant 
girls?" 

"So  much  better,  Belinda,  that  I  should  like  to 
bid  yon  never  dance  another  bolero  or  cachuca  while 
you  live." 

"  She  stands  a  moment  irresolute,  then  turns 
from  him  without  a  word.  Yanity,  childish  triumph, 
and  a  burning,  perfectly  new  sense  of  womanly  shame 
are  holding  the  oddest  conflict  imaginable  in  Belin- 
da's heart,  and  keep  her  dumb. 

"  If  I  had  only  the  right  to  exact  a  promise  of 
you,"  goes  on  Roger,  possessing  himself,  as  he  speaks, 
of  her  hand,  and  pressing  it  with  kindly  warmth. 

"  But  you  have  not  the  right ;  no,  not  as  much  as 
Augustus  Jones  lias ! "  she  exclaims,  snatching  her 
hand  away  abruptly  and  bursting  into  a  peal  of  laugh- 
ter. ""Augustus  might  have  bought  me,  perhaps, 
with  a  franc's  worth  of  maccaroons  :  but  you — you ! 
Reserve  your  jealousy,  Captain  Temple,  for  the  time 
when  Rose  takes  to  dancing  boleros  with  the  peas- 
ants !  And  as  for  me — 

" — Buvous,  chantons, 
Et  f  etons,  tour  a  tour, 
Et  1'ivresse,  1'ivresse, 
L'ivresse,  et  1'amour." 

She  sings  the  bacchanal  chorus  with  greater  spirit 


A  VAGABOND  HEROINE.  115 

than  ever  ;  then,  pirouetting  the  step  of  the  bolero  as 
she  goes,  disappears  among  the  olives,  nor  joins  Cap- 
tain Temple  again  until  he  is  within  a  dozen  paces 
of  the  Casino. 

Mrs.  O'Shea,  star-gazing  on  the  terrace  with  Au- 
gustus, receives  them  with  honeyed  smiles.  Admi- 
ration acts  upon  Rosie's  moral  faculties  like  wine ; 
and  she  has  really  been  a  good  deal  admired  this 
evening — or  a  good  deal  stared  at,  which  comes  to 
very  much  the  same  thing.  When  one  reaches  a 
certain  age,  is  it  not  wisest  to  accept  "  attention  "  just 
as  one  receives  it,  without  criticising  its  quality  too 
closely  ? 

"  Oh,  you  naughty,  naughty  children  ! "  She 
nestles  her  hand  at  once  under  Roger's  arm,  nor 
takes  it  away  again.  "  We  have  been  looking  for 
you  everywhere.  What  .a  nice  waltz  you  had !  I 
was  so  glad  to  see  Captain  Temple  dancing  with  you, 
Belinda  !  But  I  am  afraid  you  found  those  sandal- 
things  dreadfully  inconvenient  to  dance  in,  dear  ?*" 

The  italics,  the  plentiful  notes  of  admiration,  con- 
vey venom,  trebly  distilled,  to  Belinda's  sensitive  ear. 
Roger  hears  only  the  soft  veiled  voice,  feels  only  the 
plump  pressure  of  his  beloved  one's  hand  upon  his 
arm  ;  and  he  "  blesses  her  unaware.''  Dear,  gentle, 
timid  Rose  !  How  sweet  these  womanly  women  are, 
even  if  a  trifle  silly.  The  pungent  piquancy  of  a 
little  semi-barbarian  like  Belinda  may  be  tasteful,  as 
sherry  and  bitters  are  tasteful,  on  occasion.  But  for 
honest  every-day  consumption,  morning,  noon  and 
night,  what  can  be  compared  to  the  wholesomeness 


116  A  VAGABOND  HEROINE. 

of  table  beer — table  beer  with  only  just  the  least  lit- 
tle suspicion  of  a  tendency  to  turn  sour ! 

"  This  is  really  not  half  a  bad  sort  of  view,"  says 
Augustus,  pulling  at  his  wristbands  with  the  self- 
consciousness  of  a  man  who  wants  to  be  unconcerned, 
and  addressing  the  Alantic.  "  On  the  right  we  have 
the  ruins  of  St.  Barbe,  still  bearing  marks  of  the 
English  guns  of  'thirteen,  on  the  left  the  coast  of 
Spain,  while  closer  at  hand — " 

"  Rises  the  gloomy  church-tower  of  St.  Jean  de 
Luz,"  cries  Belinda,  imitating  the  poor  wretch's 
pedantic  company-voice  to  admiration.  "  That  sacred 
edifice  in  which  Louis  XIY.  was  formally  betrothed 
to  Maria  Theresa,  Infanta  of  Spain,  in  the  year  of 
our  Lord  sixteen  hundred  and  sixty.  How  long  will 
it  be,  Mr.  Jones,  before  your  great  book  of  travels 
is  published  ?  'Twould  be  a  pity,  upon  my  word, 
that  so  much  valuable  research  should  be  wasted  ! '' 

"  Belinda — Belinda,  my  dear,  how  can  you !  " 
says  Rose  admonishingly.  "  Mr.  Jones,  why  do  you 
let  her  ?  I  am  sure  it  is  all  most  interesting.  Poor 
dear  Louis  XIV.  and  Marie  Antoinette — we  read  the 
Peninsular  War  straight  through  at  Miss  Ingrain's. 
But  Belinda  is  such  a  quiz !  Really  it  seems  like 
something  in  a  novel — doesn't  it,  Roger — to  be  so 
near  Spain  ? " 

This  is  literally  Rose's  conversational  style  re- 
duced to  orthography  :  style  that  one  may  call  the 
absolute,  perfected  vacuity  of  human  speech ;  but  yet 
that,  lisped  by  a  pretty  woman,  now  making  play 
with  her  eyes,  now  suffering  giggling  eclipses  behind 


A  VAGABOND  HEROINE.  117 

her  pocket-handkerchief,  DOW  pressing  her  fingers 
confidentially  on  your  arm,  is  not  without  its  charm 
to  the  superior  intellect  of  man. 

Roger  replies,  "  Yes  indeed,  Rosie,"  a  safe  un- 
meaning answer  that  he  keeps  always  ready  for  the 
foolish  little  babble  of  his  beloved  one.  Augustus, 
who,  like  other  unhappy  young  men  of  his  class, 
regards  silence  as  a  lapse  of  breeding,  once  more 
starts  a  subject.  How  many  persons  would  Captain 
Temple  suppose,  now,  this  Casino  might  be  capable 
of  holding  ?  He  suspects  that  Roger  dislikes  him ; 
he  knows  that  he  detests  Roger ;  and  shifts  from  one 
leg  to  another,  and  fidgets  at  his  glove  button 
(Augustus  Jones  wears  yellow  gloves  at  these  Casino 
balls)  as  he  addresses  him. 

"  How  many  people  ?  Really,  Mr.  Jones,  I  have 
not  the  very  smallest  notion."  Capital  fellow  though 
Roger  be  to  those  who  know  him  and  whom  he 
likes,  I  feel  that  when  he  addresses  men  like  Mr. 
Jones  I  cannot  altogether  clear  him  from  the  imputa- 
tion of  ';  shutting  his  eyes  as  he  talks !  "  "  Kind  of 
thing  I  never  guessed  in  my  life.  Belinda,  can  you 
tell  Mr.  Jones  how  many  people  the  St.  Jean  de  Luz 
Casino  holds  ? " 

"  Of  course  I  cannot,''  answers  Belinda,  with 
her  crushing  brusquerie.  "Who  in  their  senses 
would  ask  such  a  question  unless  they  were  collecting 
materials  for  a  guide-book  ?  Xow  if  you  wanted  to 
know  about  the  people  themselves,  I  might  enlighten 
you." 

"  Enlighten  us  by  all  means,"  says  Roger  Temple. 


A  VAGABOND  HEROINE. 

And  he  moves,  despite  a  slight  unwillingness  in 
Rosie's  fingers,  nearer  to  the  girl's  side.  "  Begin 
with  the  little  lady  in  pink  satin.  There  she  is  oppo- 
site, looking  over  her  fan  at  the  gentleman  with  the 
ferocious  moustache.  Do  you  know  anything  about 
her?" 

"  Anything  ?  I  should  just  say  I  did.  And 
about  the  man  with  the  moustache  too  !  Why  those 
are  the  people  from  Burgos,  who — " 

And  "then,  such  a  story  as  Rosie,  straight-laced, 
over-scrupulous  Rosie,  is  forced  to  listen  to !  Such  a 
story — succeeded  by  such  a  dozen  others!  Con- 
stantly frequenting  the  society  of  gamins  younger 
than  herself,  Belinda  has  picked  up  all  the  watering- 
place  wickedness  afloat,  simply  as  a  gamin  picks  up 
wickedness,  and  details  it  without  a  blush. 

And  she  tells  her  stories  well;  dramatizing  a 
scene  in  Spanish  here,  throwing  in  some  caustic  bit 
of  mimicry  there,  keeping  her  characters  vivid  and 
living  before  her  audience,  always. 

"  We  have  had  enough,  more  than  enough  scan- 
dal," cries  Rose  at  last.  "You  have  quite  taken  my 
breath  away,  Belinda.  These  may  be  the  moralities 
of  foreign  watering-places,  the  subjects  of  foreign 
conversation,  but  they  are  not  English.  I  declare, 
when  we  were  girls  we  did  not  know  the  meaning  of 
evil ! " 

"How  hard  of  comprehension  you  must  have 
been,  my  dear,''  observes  Belinda  cheerfully.  "I 
suppose  that  was  in  the  innocent  days  when  you  first 
met  Captain  Temple  ? '' 


A  VAGABOND  HEROINE.  119 

The  taunt  makes  Roger  himself  wince.  The 
innocent  days  when  he  first  whispered  his  passion  to 
old  Shelmadeane's  young  wife  beside  the  hippopo- 
tamus! 

"  You  are  severe  this  evening,  Belinda,"  he 
remarks  coldly.  "  You  make  no  distinction  between 
friend  and  foe.  Rose,  my  dear/'  bending  over  the 
widow  and  whispering — yet  not  so  low  but  that 
Belinda's  ear  can  catch  every  lover-like  syllable — "  is 
it  not  late  for  you  to  be  out,  after  all  the  fatigues  of 
your  journey  ?  Let  me  take  you  back  to  the  hotel, 
dearest.  You  look  pale." 

"  Oh,  but  Belinda,"  says  Rose  generously,  and 
making  a  feint  of  quitting  her  lover's  arm.  "  Don't 
anybody  think  of  me  !  See  Belinda  home  first." 

"  Thanks,  very  much,  Rose,"  cries  the  girl.  "  As 
Belinda  has  been  seeing  myself  home  (only  she  never 
had  a  home)  during  the  last  four  years,  she  will  prob- 
ably be  quite  capable  of  doing  the  same  to-night.'' 

"If — if  I  may  be  allowed?"  And  Mr.  Jones 
puts  himself  forward  in  obedience  to  a  glance  he 
received  from  Rose.  "  It  is  too  late  for  Miss  O'Shea 
to  pass  through  the  town  without  an  escort." 

"  Miss  O'Shea  has  got  Costa  for  her  escort," 
begins  Belinda  with  her  usual  sturdy  independence ; 
then  abruptly  she  discovers  that  Roger  Temple  is 
watching  her  face,  and  a  new  freak  of  perversity 
takes  possession  of  her.  "  Miss  O'Shea  has  got  Costa, 
but  she  will  be  only  too  glad  of  your  protection,  no\v 
and  at  all  times,  Mr.  Jones ! " — smiling  affectionately 


120  A  VAGABOND  HEROINE. 

at  Jones  with  her  lips,  and  mocking  him,  ridiculing 
him,  despising  him  with  her  eyes. 

"  You  will  see  if  that  is  not  a  match,"  remarks 
Hose,  as  the  two  figures  walk  away  together  in  the 
moonlight.  "I  was  so  much  obliged  to  you,  my 
dear,  for  taking  her  off  my  hands  this  evening.  It 
gave  me  such  a  nice  long  talk  with  Mr.  Jones,  and  I 
am  convinced  he  is  serious.  What  is  more,  Roger, 
in  spite  of  all  her  flighty  manner,  I  am  convinced 
that  Belinda  will  accept  him  ;  indeed,  my  only  fear 
is  that  he  will  be  shocked  by  her  over-readiness.  A 
young  girl  telling  an  eligible  man  that  she  would  be 
glad  '  now  and  at  all  times'  of  his  protection ! " 

"  Recollect  her  age,  Rose.  You  must  not  take, 
au  pied  de  la  lettre,  every  word  that  a  madcap  child 
like  Belinda  chooses  to  utter." 

"  I  take  people's  speeches  and  their  actions,  too, 
as  I  find  them,"  answers  Rose,  ignoring  the  quota- 
tion ;  Rosie  ignores  everything  in  the  universe  that 
she  does  not  understand.  "  And  I  do  not  forget  that 
Belinda  is  of  Yansittart  blood.  Like  mother,  like 
daughter."  Proud  though  she  is  of  the  connection, 
Cornelius  O'Shea's  widow  can  never  refrain  from 
flinging  her  little  pebble  at  poor  dead  Lady  Eliza- 
beth's memory.  "  We  all  know  what  kind  of  repu- 
tation the  Yansittart  women  have." 

"  The  reputation  of  more  than  common  beauty,  I 
have  been  told,"  remarks  Roger,  with  an  air  of  in- 
nocence. 

"  She  has  taken  his  arm — actually  !  When  we 
were  girls  such  a  thing  was  never  thought  of  until 


A  VAGABOND  HEROINE.  121 

one  was  formally  engaged.  Belinda  has  taken  Mr. 
Jones's  arm — do  you  see  ? " 

"  Yes,  I  see,  I  see  !  "  answers  Roger  Temple,  not 
without  impatience.  Curious  anomaly — if  anything 
pertaining  to  the  relations  of  men  and  women  can 
ever  be  called  anomalous ! — Rosie's  lover  is  sensible 
of  a  distinct  pang  of  jealousy  at  this  moment.  "  Any 
girl  of  seventeen  would  encourage  any  fellow  who 
had  carriages  and  diamonds  to  offer  her,  as  you 
ought  to  know,  Rose."- 

"Belinda,  most  of  all,"  acquiesces  the  widow, 
with  one  of  her  pretty  sighs.  "  It  has  gone  out  of 
fashion  for  young  girls  to  sacrifice  interest  to  the 
affections,  as  we  used.' 

Roger  thinks  of  Mr.  Shelmadeane,  and  is  silent. 
6 


MAMMON   WINS    HIS   WAT. 

HITE  with  moonlight,  astir  with  the  life  and 
joyousness  of  the  southern  night,  are  the 
narrow  streets  of  St.  Jean  de  Luz,  as  Belinda 
and  her  companion  proceed  toward  what  may 
by  courtesy  be  called  Belinda's  home.  Ladies  with 
fan  and  mantilla  returning  bare-headed  from  the 
Casino  ball ;  itinerant  serenaders  twanging  guitars 
for  money — alas,  is  there  to  be  no  poetry  left  in  life  I 
— beneath  the  projecting  iron  balconies;  stately 
hidalgos  in  cloaks  ;  statelier  beggars  in  tatters ;  every 
here  and  there  a  patio,  or  garden,  odorous  with  cit- 
ron flowers,  pomegranate,  myrtle;  and  for  back- 
ground the  mountains,  just  one  shade  deeper  iris 
than  the  arch  of  tremulous  heaven  overhead. 

Could  hour  or  scene  be  more  auspicious  for  a 
lover  ?  Could  hour  or  scene  better  dispose  a  girl's 
imagination  toward  a  declaration  of  love  ? 

They  walk  for  a  considerable  time  in  silence,  Be- 
linda and  Mr.  Jones.  At  last,  "I  hope  you  have  for- 
given me  for  not  feeding  Costa  on  maccaroons  ? '' 


A  VAGABOND  HEROINE.  123 

whispers  the  young  man,  pressing  her  unresponsive 
hand  ever  so  little  to  his  side. 

"  Do  you,  Mr.  Jones  ?  why  ?  "  She  accepts  his 
arm  out  of  sheerest  perversity,  and  because  she 
guessed  that  certain  eyes  were  watching  her;  but 
her  heart  feels  wicked  against  poor  Augustus,  wicked 
against  the  whole  bright  world  which  forms  a  back- 
ground for  Roger  Temple  and  for  Rose.  "  When  / 
know  people  detest  me,  I  would  much  rather  be 
without  their  forgiveness  than  with  it." 

Not  an  encouraging  answer  for  a  man  on  the  eve 
of  proposing.  But  Mrs.  O'Shea's  wary  arts  during 
that  starlit  conversation  on  the  terrace  have  brought 
up  Mr.  Jones's  resolution  to  the  sticking  point.  So 
much  familiar  talk  of  Lady  Althea  and  Lord  Lionel. 
"  Belinda's  nearest  relations,  Mr.  Jones — the  people, 
whenever  our  dear  Belinda  does  settle  in  London, 
with  whom  she  and  her  husband  must  be  constantly 
and  intimately  thrown" — so  much  familiar  talk,  I 
say,  about  possible  cousins  in  the  peerage,  not  un- 
mingled  with  suggestions  that,  in  our  dear  Belinda's 
position,  a  happy  early  union  rather  than  large  set- 
tlements is  what  Rose's  step-maternal  heart  yearns 
after,  has  made  Mr.  Jones  resolute  to  win  or  give  up 
all  to-night. 

He  does  not  love,  he  sees  no  remotest  chance  of 
bringing  himself  to  love  this  meagre,  dark-skinned, 
bitter-tongued  mite  of  an  earl's  granddaughter.  But 
Jones  is  not  a  man  to 'be  turned  from  any  project, 
commercial  or  matrimonial,  by  obstacle  so  paltry  as 
personal  likes  or  dislikes.  The  earliest  sacred  truth 


124  A  VAGABOND  HEROINE. 

instilled  into  his  childish  soul,  his  highest  mature 
conception  of  moral  law,  is  that  Christians  and  Eng- 
lishmen should  buy  in  the  cheapest  market  what- 
ever article  they  require.  He,  Jones,  requires  the 
article  birth  ;  has  hunted  it  up  and  down  many  Eng- 
lish watering-places,  as  men  of  the  Cornelius  O'Shea 
genus  hunt  money  ;  and  now  has  it  under  his  hand, 
to  be  bought  for  a  song  (did  not  Rosie  wisely  throw 
in  the  hint  about  modest  settlements?),  the  only  diffi- 
culty being  as  to  the  article's  consent.  But  after 
sunning  himself  in  the  widow's  smile,  and  listening 
to  the  widow's  silky  flatteries  during  the  past  hour 
and  a  half,  Mr.  Jones  cannot  but  feel  that  he  is  a 
very  captivating  fellow  indeed  in  women's  eyes,  and 
entertains  but  little  fear  as  to  that. 

"  I  have  never  been  fortunate  enough  to  find  you 
at  home  yet,  Miss  O'Shea."  He  makes  this  next 
attempt  at  tender  talk  just  as  they  reach  the  Maison 
Lohobiague,  on  the  third  floor  of  which  Miss  Burke 
and  Belinda  lodge.  "I  should  like,"  sentimentally, 
"  to  see  the  apartment  where  you  spend  your  time, 
if  I  might  ? " 

It  seems  to  him  that  the  task  of  bringing  her  to 
terms  will  be  easier  of  accomplishment  indoors  than 
out.  Never  yet  has  he  seen  Belinda  within  four 
walls,  and  the  idea  strikes  him  that  she  may  prove 
more  manageable  within  a  restricted  space;  like  a 
squirrel  in  a  cage,  a  colt  within  a  pound,  or  any 
other  inferior  animal  whom  it  is  man's  supreme  pleas- 
ure to  tame  and  subjugate. 

"  The  apartment  where  I  spend  my  time.    Burke's 


A  VAGABOND  HEROINE.  125 

den  !  "Well,  if  you  want  to  see  it,  you  had  better  use 
your  legs  and  walk  up  now.  Miss  Burke,  as  you 
know,  is  away  ;  our  servant — actually  we  have  a  ser- 
vant, Mr.  Jones,  just  to  set  our  soup  going  of  a 
morning — went  off'  to  the  bull-tight  at  Fontarabia 
yesterday,  and  has  not  appeared  since.  So  you  must 
not  expect  to  see  things  in  apple-pie  order." 

She  quits  his  arm,  bestows  a  series  of  hugs  and 
farewells  on  Costa — the  poor  old  dog,  well  trained, 
stopping  discreetly  three  or  four  paces  away  from 
Miss  Burke's  threshold — then  vanishes  out  of  sight 
beneath  an  overhanging  stone  portecochere  or  arch- 
way, whither  Mr.  Jones,  his  dapper  feet  tortured  by 
the  stones,  his  yellow-kidded  hands  extended  to  save 
his  nose  from  collision  with  the  wall,  follows  her. 

The  Maison  Lohobiague  is  one  of  those  towering 
fifteenth-century  Basque  palaces  of  which  three  or  four 
still  stand,  tast  crumbling,  alas  !  into  dust,  beside  the 
harbor  of  St.  Jean  de  Luz.  The  Infanta  of  Spain 
lodged  in  the  Lohobiague,  says  oral  history,  on  the 
occasion  of  her  betrothal  to  Louis  XIV.  Now  'tis 
tenanted  out  in  sets  of  furnished  lodgings,  low-rented, 
on  account  of  rats,  dry  rot,  mould,  and  other  such 
drawbacks  to  mediaeval  romance,  but  deliciously  cool 
in  summer  by  reason  of  the  narrow,  semi-Moorish 
windows,  thick  walls,  and  vaulted  balconies,  and 
with  the  noblest  panorama  of  river,  fertile  plain,  and 
distant  lonely  mountain  sierra  for  outlook. 

The  dark,  winding  staircase  seems  trebly  dark 
after  the  intense  moonlight  of  the  streets  ;  and  Mr. 


126  A  VAGABOND  HEROINE. 

Jones,  a  careful  man  not  only  as  regards  moral  but 
bodily  risks,  pauses  at  the  bottom. 

"  Come  along,  if  you  are  coming,"  rings  out  Be- 
linda's voice  from  airy  heights  overhead.  "  There  is 
plenty  of  light  when  once  you  get  up  here,  only  look 
out  after  your  shins  meanwhile." 

The  "  plenty  of  light "  proceeds  from  a  solitary 
oil  lamp,  which  sheds  its  dim  religious  rays  before 
the  figure  of  a  saint  on  the  landing  of  the  second  floor. 
A  grotesquely  tawdry  female  saint,  of  Basque  or 
Spanish  origin,  life-sized,  ghastly-hued ;  with  a  lace 
pocket  handkerchief,  with  blood  streaming  from  her 
martyred  brow  and  hands,  a  necklace  of  huge  mock 
brilliants  on  the  throat,  a  pair  of  satin  slippers  that 
may  have  been  white  once — say  at  the  betrothal  of 
Louis  XIY. — upon  her  feet. 

"We  live  one  stoiy  higher  still,"  says  Belinda, 
Mr.  Jones  stopping  to  turn  up  his  British  nose  at 
this  work  of  sacerdotal  art.  "  And  unless  Juanita 
happens  to  have  left  a  candle,  I  shall  have  to  enter- 
tain you  in  the  dark.  However,  there  is  the  moon." 

"  And — and  the  brightness  of  your  eyes,  Belin- 
da ! ''  says  Jones,  groping  his  way  up  the  steep  stair- 
case after  her. 

"  And  what  ? "  shouts  the  girl  sharply,  through 
the  darkness.  "  There  is  such  an  echo,  Mr.  Jones — 
no  hearing  a  word,  unless  you  speak  more  distinctly. 
What  did  you  say  would  light  us  ?  " 

But  something,  either  in  the  tone  of  her  voice  or 
in  the  distance  that  separates  them,  restrains  Mr. 


A  VAGABOND  HEROINE.  127 

Jones  from  again  launching  into  the  hazardous  re- 
gion of  compliment. 

Under  the  lawful  regime  of  Miss  Burke  the  outer 
door  of  the  apartment  is  always  kept  virtuously  lock- 
ed after  dark  ;  but  this,  like  other  precautionary  rules 
of  life,  is  set  at  naught  when  Belinda,  as  at  present, 
holds  the  rudder  of  government.  Half  ajar  stands  a 
huge  oaken  door,  blackened  with  time,  crusted  with 
dirt,  a  door  as  old,  probably,  as  the  solid  masonry 
of  the  house.  On  a  vigorous  push  from  the  ghTs 
hand,  it  creaks  slowly  back  upon  its  hinges,  and  Mr. 
Jones  is  introduced  to  "  Burke's  den,"  a  room  bigger 
than  an  Isle  of  Wight  church,  the  roof  joisted  and 
innocent  of  all  modern  refinement  of  lath  and  plaster, 
the  walls  of  the  indescribable  smoky  grey  of  ages. 
Vast  pictures  of  saints  and  martyrs  in  different  stages 
of  burning  or  mutilation,  French  studies,  probably 
after  Ribera,  exaggerations,  nightmares  of  that  mas- 
ter's most  repulsive  realism,  hang  around.  Saints 
and  cobwebs  may,  indeed,  be  said  to  furnish  the 
room.  Of  furniture  proper  there  is — a  table  that 
was  once  carved  and  gilt,  now  in  the  last  stage  of 
rickety  decay,  and  of  which  one  leg  is  propped  up  by 
a  pile  of  battered  books ;  a  lofty  pier  glass,  overdim 
with  antiquity  for  purposes  of  reflection  ;  three  crip- 
pled chairs,  piled  pell-mell  at  the  present  moment  in 
a  corner:  and  a  shelf  containing  in  all  about  twelve 
pieces  of  crockery,  of  different  sizes  and  patterns. 
"  I  am  an  Ishmaelite  by  choice,"  Miss  Burke  will  say, 
with  the  conscious  proud  humility  of  intellect,  to 
such  straggling  acquaintance  as  chance  ever  gives  her 


128  A  VAGABOND  HEROINE. 

to  entertain.  "  The  frivolous  details  of  upholstery  do 
not  concern  me.  Climate,  nature ;  association  with 
the  mighty  minds  of  the  past — these  to  me  are  the 
necessities  of  life  ?  " 

Mr.  Jones  looks  round  him  open-mouthed,  Be- 
linda having  been  fortunate  enough  to  find  a  candle 
whose  solitary  light  barely  pierces  from  end  to  end 
of  the  sombre,  shadowy  room. 

And  yon — you  live  here?"  he  exclaims  with 
unaffected  amazement.  "What  a  place — what  pic- 
tures !  It,  gives  one  the  horrors  to  look  at  them." 
Only  Mr.  Jones  is  thinking  a  little  nervously  over 
what  he  is  going  to  say  next,  and  calls  it  "  'errors." 

"  Well,  yes — the  Maison  Lohobiague  is  not  fur- 
nished according  to  Clapham  taste,"  retorts  Belinda, 
with  her  frank  impertinence.  "  But  it  suits  me 
better.  I  like  the  old  shabby  room,  Mr.  Jones,  and 
the  'orrid  pictures  and  the  cobwebs ;  yes,  and  I 
should  be  very  sorry  to  exchange  them  for  any 
stuccoed  cockney  gentility.  I  have  lived  here  two 
years  off  and  on  ;  Miss  Burke  has  made  it  a  sort  of 
headquarters  in  all  her  comings  and  goings ;  and  I 
have  grown  to  the  place.  If  Burke  would  only  get 
killed  on  a  railway  or  made  a  professoress,  or  any- 
thing, I  should  be  quite  content  to  stop  in  the  Loho- 
biague with  Costa,  always !  " 

And  now  Augustus  feels  is  the  time  for  him  to 
crash  down  on  this  poor  pauper  eh  Id  with  the  mag- 
nificence of  his  offer.  "  Miss  O'Shea — Belinda,"  he 
cries,  coming  up  beside  her  very  close,  "  there  is  no 
necessity  for  you  to  spend  your  days  in  these  miser- 


A  VAGABOND  HEROINE. 

able  foreign  places  any  longer.  Since  I  saw  you 
this  afternoon  I — ahein — I  have  been  talking  to 
your  mamma.'' 

"  Stepmamma.  If  you  are  not  accurate,  you  are 
nothing." 

"And  I  have  made  my  mind  up!  I  have  made 
my  mind  np  fully,"  says  Jones,  with  magnanimity, 
"as  to  my  line  of  conduct.  There  may  seem,  there 
are  disparities."  He  glances  with  an  air  of  conde- 
scension at  the  girl's  dress,  at  the  appointments  of 
the  meagre  room.  "  Still,  as  Mrs.  O'Shea  says,  six 
months  of  the  first  educational  advantages  in  Eng- 
land would  work  wonders,  and,  at  our  age,  we  can 
afford  to  wait,  can  we  not  ?  " 

*'  I  should  answer  better  if  I  had  a  glimmering 
notion  of  what  you  mean  by  '  we.'  Are  you  going 
to  school  again,  Mr.  Jones?  Mind  your  'h's,'  you 
know,  if  you  do." 

"Belinda,"  his  voice  shakes,  his  color  rises. 
(How  hideous  he  is,  communes  Belinda  within  her- 
self !  How  the  mosquito-bites  glow  and  radiate 
from  out  that  purple  blush  ! )  "  Do  you  think  you 
ever — I  mean,  I  know  I  never — "  confound  it  all, 
why  will  the  girl  fix  those  hard  eyes  of  hers  upon 
his  face  ! — "  never  saw  any  one  so  likely  to  make  me 
happy.  Oh,  come,  you  mustn't  take  your  hand 
away — -"  which  she  does,  with  unmistakable  energy, 
the  moment  she  feels  his  touch.  "  I  will  not  let  you 
go  till  you  answer  me.  Belinda,  could  you  ever 
care  for  me  enough  to  be  my  wife  ? " 

He  has  stumbled  through  it  as  well,  perhaps,  as 
6* 


130  A  VAGABOND  HEROINE. 

the  majority  of  men  stumble  through  the  most 
momentous  question  of  their  lives.  Belinda,  who 
has  never  before  heard  a  declaration,  or  read  of  a 
declaration,  or  imagined  a  declaration,  thinks  the 
exhibition  pitiable,  and  tells  him  so. 

"  You  are  a  more  complete  fool  than  I  took  you 
for,  Mr.  Jones.  If  you  really  want  me,  me,  to  marry 
you,  why  not  say  so  like  a  rational  being,  instead  of 
stammering  and  hesitating  and  blushing  like  a  school- 
boy ashamed  to  speak  the  truth  ?  " 

Mr.  Jones  stands  silently  recovering  his  nerve 
after  the  plunge.  "  It  will,  I  know,  meet  the  wishes 
of  Mrs.  O'Shea  and  of  Captain  Temple,"  he  remarks 
at  last,  almost  humbly. 

"  What  will  ? " 

"  Our  marriage,  Belinda." 

"Did  they  tell  you  so?" 

"Mrs.  O'Shea  led  me  to  believe — " 

"  Rose  leads  everybody  to  believe  everything. 
And  he — Captain  Temple  ? " 

"It  can  be  no  interest  of  Captain  Temple's  to  put 
himself  in  the  way  of  your  settlement,  I  should 
eay." 

She  turns  from  him,  she  walks  quickly  to  the 
further  end  of  the  room ;  a  certain  dignity,  child 
though  she  be,  in  every  movement  of  her  poor  little 
ragged  figure.  Then  she  conies  back  to  the  young 
man's  side  and  looks  steadily  with  her  honest  eyes 
into  his. 

"  A  thing  like  this  can't  be  decided  in  a  moment, 
Mr.  Jones.  If  you  want  really  and  truly,  to  marry 


A  VAGABOND  HEROINE.  131 

me,  you  must,  I  suppose,  have  some  good  reasons 
for  doing  so.  That  is  not  my  business,  however. 
Every  one  is  free  to  have  his  own  crotchets  about 
happiness !  But  what  I  do  want  to  know,  and  what 
I  dare  say  you  can  tell  me,  is — why  should  I  marry 
you?" 

"  I  should  hope,  a  little  because  you  like  me," 
suggests  Augustus,  trying  with  imperfect  success  to 
throw  a  lover-like  warmth  into  his  voice.  "  That 
is  the  reason  generally,  I  believe,  for  which  young 
ladies  accept  men." 

"  Is  it,  indeed  ?  I  thought  liking  had  nothing 
whatever  to  do  with  such  things.  I  thought  the 
lover  said,  '  I  can  aiford  such  a  house,  carriage,  ser- 
vants, diamonds,  on  condition  that  you  take  me  for  a 
husband ! '  And  then  that  the  young  lady  reckoned 
up  the  sweets  and  the  sour  together,  and  answered 
yes  or  no,  according  to  whether  she  found  the  bar- 
gain good." 

"  Is  that  the  kind  of  way  you  wish  me  to  address 
you,  Miss  O'Shea  ? " 

"  It  is  the  best  way  for  you  to  address  me  if  you 
want  to  get  a  sensible  answer,  Mr.  Jones." 

She  perches  herself  on  a  corner  of  the  rickety 
table,  tilts  her  hat  back  on  her  head,  and  swinging 
her  sandalled  feet  to  and  fro  in  the  air,  begins — as 
coolly  as  though  she  were  scoring  up  the  points  at 
paume — to  reckon  the  items  of  the  projected  "  bar- 
gain." 

"  Carriage,  so  much  ;  diamonds,  so  much  ;  house, 
BO  much.  We  will  begin  with  the  house.  How 


132  A  VAGABOND  HEROINE. 

large  a  house,  exactly,  should  you  and  I  have  to  live 
in  at  Clapham  ? " 

"  I  am  not  joking,  and  yon  are/'  replied  Jones 
sullenly.  "  Of  course,  if  you  do  not  choose  to  take 
the  thing  seriously,  I  have  nothing  more  to  say." 

"  Well — would  you  mind  my  having  my  supper 
first  ?  I  am  as  hungry  as  a  wolf,  sir !  Burke  leaves 
me  on  a  kind  of  board-wages  when  she  goes  off  liter- 
aturing,  and  I  have  not  eaten  a  mouthful  since  your 
maccaroons.  You  will  not  mind  ?  Thanks.  And 
while  I  eat,  yon  know,  you  can  make  yourself  agree- 
able, tell  me  all  the  delightful  projects  you  and  Eosie 
have  been  laying  out  for  my  future  welfare." 

Belinda's  supper  consists  of  a  big  slice  of  house- 
hold bread,  and  another  rather  bigger  one  of  melon, 
washed  down  by  cold  water.  Having  produced  these 
refreshments  from  the  shelf,  which  at  once  answers 
as  dresser,  larder,  and  pantry,  she  resumes  her  for- 
mer place  on  the  corner  of  the  table,  and,  unincum- 
bered  by  knife,  fork,  or  plate,  sups. 

Mr.  Jones,  who,  like  other  unwholesome-blooded 
city -bred  persons,  distrusts  all  wholesome,  natural, 
simple  food,  watches  her  with  a  kind  of  pitying  hor- 
ror. Melon,  at  night  !  cold  water !  brown  bread, 
devoured  in  half-pound  slices  1 

"  Yes,  my  living  does  not  cost  much,"  cries  Belin- 
da, interpreting  his  looks  correctly.  "  That  will  be 
one  blessing,  at  least,  for  my  husband.  And  if  he 
liked  to  pitch  his  tent  further  south,  it  would  cost 
less.  Talk  of  a  Clapham  villa !  Why,  you  need  not 
have  a  house  at  all  for  more  than  three  months  in 


A  VAGABOND  HEROINE.  133 

the  year  down  at  Granada,  there  are  such  lots  of 
jolly  arches  and  walls  to  sleep  under.  And  the  wine 
of  the  country,  fine  strong  wine,  that  gets  in  your 
head  directly,  is  as  cheap  as  water,  and  you  can  buy 
a  day's  fruit  for  five  gramos.  1  should  say,''  medi- 
tatively, "  a  married  pair  of  quiet  habits  and  unam- 
bitious minds  could  live  handsomely  in  Granada  on 
twenty-five  francs  a  week  ;  yes,  and  be  able  to  treat 
themselves  to  a  theatre  or  bull-fight  of  a  Sunday  as 
well/' 

"  Twenty-five  francs  a  week !  Fifty  pounds  a 
year !  "  says  Augustus.  "  Not  the  quarter  of  what  I 
should  allow  my  wife  for  pin-money." 

A  sharply-contrasted  picture  they  make  at  this 
moment,  reader — these  two  people  who  are  discuss- 
ing the  propriety  of  spending  their  lives  together: 
Belinda,  with  her  mischievous,  Murillo  eyes  and 
gleaming  teeth,  devouring  melon  and  swinging  her 
ragged  feet  to  and  fro  as  she  philosophizes  on  the 
nothingness  of  wealth ;  Mr.  Jones,  yellow-gloved, 
London-coated,  and  with  his  smug,  calculating,  Lead- 
enhall-street  face,  watching  her. 

He  is  cleverish,  worldly-cleverish,  at  least ;  the 
sons  of  most  very  successful  men  are  that ;  but  he 
has  not  a  chance  against  the  gamin  astuteness,  the 
keen  mother  wit  of  Belinda  O'Shea.  Devouring  her 
bread  and  melon,  rattling  on  with  wild  panegyrics  of 
the  delights  of  beggary,  she  sets  herself  to  find  out 
from  him  the  precise  extent  of  Rosie's  little  intrigues 
on  her  behalf,  the  precise  goodness  of  the  "bargain" 
ottered  to  her  acceptance,  and  succeeds  ;  yes,  even  as 


13-i  A  VAGABOND  HEROINE. 

regards  details.  Such  a  carriage,  such  liveries;  such 
a  set  of  diamonds  as  her  wedding-gift.  Rose,  to  the 
utmost  of  her  power,  has  sold  her,  and  sold  her 
advantageously  ;  Captain  Temple — well,  Captain 
Temple,  a  not  unwilling  witness  to  the  transaction. 

Now  for  her  reply. 

"  I  cannot  imagine  what  put  it  into  your  head  to 
think  of  me,  Mr.  Jones.  Oh,  I  know  why  you  came 
to  St.  Jean  de  Luz ;  of  course  Rosie  planned  your 
tour  for  you  !  But  what  first  put  it  into  your  head 
to  think  of  me  in  that  sort  of  light  ? "  For  a  moment 
her  long  eyelashes  shade  her  cheek,  the  cheek  that 
neither  pales  nor  reddens  under  his  gaze.  "  I  have 
not  made  myself  over-and-above  civil  to  you,  have 
I?" 

"  Well,  no,  not  anything  very  particular,"  Mr. 
Jones  assents. 

"  And  I  am  sure  I  am  not  what  you,  with  your 
fastidious  tastes,  would  think  lady -like" — oh  !  the 
curl,  imperceptible  perhaps  to  Augustus,  of  her 
upper  lip  ! — "  nor  what  any  one,"  with  a  thoroughly 
sincere  sigh  this,  "  would  think  pretty.  Now  what 
in  the  name  of  heaven  can  make  you  wish  to  marry 
me  ? " 

"  I — I — because  I  love  you,"  begins  Jones,  stam- 
mering. 

"  Tell  that  Hague  to  some  one  else,"  interrupts 
the  girl  with  sudden  passion,  "  not  to  me !  If  you 
loved  me,  I  should  feel  it — here  ! "  clasping  her 
graceful  brown  hands  to  her  breast,  "just  as  I  feel 
that  Costa  loves  me,  and  I  would  marry  you — yes, 


A  VAGABOND  HEROINE.  135 

even  you — to-morrow  out  of  gratitude,  and  if  you  had 
only  a  hundred  a  year  instead  of  all  the  thousands 
you  talk  of.  But  you  do  not.  You  care  no  more  for 
me  than  I  for  you,  and  so — " 

41  And  so  I  suppose  you  will  not  marry  me,"  says 
Jones,  with  mortification  that  he  would  fain  hide 
under  an  air  of  banter. 

Belinda  hesitates — looks  away  from  him.  She  is 
a  child,  with  all  a  child's  instinctive  craving  for  the 
sweets  of  liberty;  but  she  is  a  Bohemian  as  well, 
with  all  a  Bohemian's  keen  appreciation  of  money 
and  what  money  will  bring.  It  would — it  would  be 
sweet,  she  feels,  to  wear  finer  dresses,  richer  jewels 
than  Rosie's,  to  invite  Rosie  and  Captain  Temple 
condescendingly  to  dinner,  lend  them  one's  opera 
box,  take  them  for  a  drive  occasionally  in  one's  car- 
riage. And  then  to  bid  good-by  forever  to  Miss 
Bnrke!  The  thought  of  Augustus  Jones  as  a  life- 
companion  may  be  hideous,  but  half  its  hideousness 
vanishes,  surely  if  one  remembers  this — he  would 
replace  Miss  Burke. 

"  I  am  certain  I  shall  make  you  wretched,  Mr. 
Jones;  but  as  you  seem,  you  and  Rosie,  to  have  set 
your  minds  on  this  engagement — stop,  though,  I 
must  ask  one  thing  first :  is  your  name  on  the  door- 
plate,  I  mean  of  the  Clapham  villa 't  That  I  could 
not  stand." 

"  My  name — on  a  door-plate  f  "  says  Jones,  as 
indignantly  as  though  the  blood  of  all  the  Howards 
ran  in  his  veins.  "  "NVhy,  what  do  you  take  me  for? 
No  one  but  professional  men,  apothecaries,  or  that 


136  A  VAGABOND  HEROINE. 

sort  of  thing,  ever  ticket  their  names  outside  on  a 
door  plate." 

"  Well,  then,  I  could  never  suit  you  nor  you  me, 
the  whole  thing  is  preposterous ;  still,  if  you  would 
like  to  try  it,  just  as  an  experiment — " 

He  rushes  forward  rapturously. 

"  Oh,  I  thank  you — very  much  obliged  indeed  !  " 
Belinda  springs  upon  her  feet  and  puts  herself  in  a 
not  altogether  unscientific  attitude  of  self-defence. 
"  We  may  be  engaged  if  you  like,  but  I  will  have  no 
fooleries  of  that  kind.  Do  you  hear  me — I  will  not ! 
Mr.  Jones,  you  shall  never  kiss  me." 

And  then,  quick  as  thought  itself,  flashes  on  her 
the  remembrance  of  the  moment  when  her  eyes  fir*t 
met  Roger's  this  afternoon,  of  the  hour  spent  with 
Roger  alone  under  the  stars,  of  the  moment  when 
he  praised  her — ah,  with  praise  how  unlike  the  ful- 
some compliments  of  this  legitimate  lover ! — and 
when  vanity,  shame,  a  minglemeni;  of  feelings  such 
as  her  life  had  never  known  before,  held  her  dumb. 

"  Never  kiss  you !  Not  even  when  we  are  mar- 
ried, I  suppose  ? "  remarks  Mr.  Jones,  unwisely 
jocular. 

"  Married — who  talks  of  being  married  ?  ''  cries 
Belinda  ;  such  mutiny  against  her  own  weakness, 
such  disdain,  such  mockery  of  her  captor  in  her 
eyes ! 

"You  talked  a  moment  ago  about  trying  the 
experiment,  did  you  not?  " 

"I  said  that  we  might  try  being  lovers — no,  not 
lovers  either — that  we  might  try  being  engaged  ;  and 


A  VAGABOND  HEROINE.  137 

I  keep  to  it.  You  are  going  away  to  visit  the  Pas 
de  Roland,  you  know,  to-morrow — " 

"  Not  now.  I  shall  have  no  spare  time  for  sight- 
seeing now,"  interrupts  Augustus  amatively. 

"  Why  not  ?  Because  Rose  is  here  ?  Oh,  Rose 
has  quite  enough  on  her  hands  without  you.  You 
will  go  to  the  mountains  to-morrow,  and  you  will 
stay  away  four  days,  as  yon  intended,  and  admire 
every  waterfall  and  rock  and  ruin  Murray  bids  you. 
By  that  time  I  shall  be  used  to  the  thought  of — of 
Clapham,  perhaps.  Miss  Burke  will  be  back  for  one 
thing,  and  I  shall  have  had  a  good  deal,"  with  a  sigh 
this,  "of  Rose.  I  shall  feel  better  disposed  toward 
any  change.  Mr.  Jones,  if  you  will  promise  never, 
as  long  as  you  live,  to  kiss  me,  I  dare  say  I  shall  not 
be  very  sorry  to  see  you  come  back." 

And  not  one  other  warmer  word  or  promise  can 
Augustus  wring  from  her.  She  will  try  being 
engaged,  minus  love-making,  as  an  experiment ;  and 
if  h»  will  promise  never  as  long  as  he  lives  .to  kiss 
her,  perhaps  after  four  days'  absence  she  may  not  be 
very  sorry  to  see  him  return. 

So  much  for  his  present  chance  of  an  alliance 
with  the  noble  family  of  Van  sit  tart. 

As  Mr.  Jones  walks  back  to  the  Hotel  Isabella  in 
the  moonlight,  he  does  not  feel  sure  that  he  will  have 
bought  the  article  birth  quite  so  cheaply  after  all. 


CHAPTER 


VANITY   VERSUS    CONSCIENCE. 

RS.  AUGUSTUS   JONES.     Belinda  Jones.     Mr. 

and  Mrs.  Jones,  Clapham. 

So  Belinda,  when  she  is  alone,  rings  every 

possible  change  upon  her  future  titles  as  a 
matron,  and  finds  each  tuneless.  But  then  the  dia- 
monds !  reflection  that  ere  this  has  governed  the  con 
duct  of  so  many  a  wiser,  older,  better  woman.  Be- 
linda's life  of  late  years  has  not  brought  her  into  per- 
sonal contact  with  many  of  the  outward  belongings 
of  wealth.  One  tremendously  showy  and  massive 
brilliant  was  wont  to  sparkle  in  Major  O'Shea's  neck- 
tie, but  that,  likelier  than  not,  thinks  the  girl  with  a 
sigh,  was  paste.  Papa  used  to  say,  when  he  was  in 
a  moralizing  mood,  that  everything  was  paste  in  this 
degenerate  nineteenth  century.  "  There  has  been  a 
bronze  age,  my  child,  and  an  iron  age,"  Cornelius 
would  tell  her.  "  This  is  the  age  of  paste.  And,  in 
the  long  run,  the  counterfeit  answers  just  as  well  as 
the  reality."  If  paste  diamonds,  in  the  long  run, 
would  answer  as  well  as  real  ones,  why  become 


A  VAGABOND  HEROINE.  139 

the  wife  of  Mr.  Jones  and  live  at  Clapham  for  the 
sake  of  them  ?  Ah,  but  there  are  the  riding  horses 
as  well — the  riding  horses,  the  silk  dresses,  the  opera 
box. 

Wistfully  gazing  through  the  open  window  at  the 
sky,  Belinda  thinks  of  the  remote  Belgravian  days 
when  her  papa  was  in  the  first  delightful  flush  of 
Rose's  money, — the  days  of  dinner  parties  and  balls, 
when  even  she,  Belinda,  wore  pretty  frocks,  and 
occasionally  tasted  the  society  of  lovely,  bare-necked 
beings,  with  flowers  in  their  hair,  silken  trains,  fans, 
lovers,  instead  of  watching  them  forlornly  from  with- 
out, as  she  did  to-night.  How  would  she  look  bare- 
necked, with  flowers  in  her  hair,  with  a  train,  a  fan, 
lovers  ?  How  if  she  should  attempt  a  rehearsal  of 
the  effect  (lovers  excepted)  with  such  rough  materials 
as  she  may  have  at  hand ! 

Miss  Burke,  as  it  chances,  has  left  the  key  of  her 
travelling-case  in  the  lock — alas,  the  frame  of  mind 
for  wrong-doing  given,  and  when  does  the  demon 
opportunity  fail  any  of  us? — and  in  Miss  Burke's 
travelling-case  lies,  neatly  folded,  that  lady's  best 
black  silk  dress.  In  shorter  time  than  it  has  taken 
me  to  write,  Belinda,  candle  in  hand,  glides  into  the 
adjoining  room,  the  sanctuary  of  Miss  Burke's 
maiden  charms,  opens  the  case,  gazes,  vacillates — 
handles ! 

The  skirt  is  too  long,  for  Miss  Burke  is  of  loftier 
stature  than  herself.  So  much  the  grander  will  be 
her  train.  And  the  sleeves  must  be  tucked  up,  and 
the  bodice  pinned  down,  and  white  lace,  also  of  Miss 


140  A  VAGABOND  HEROINE. 

Burke's,  added  here  and  there,  for  lightness.  Never 
in  her  life  before  has  Belinda  touched  thread  or  nee- 
dle save  under  stress  of  direst  necessity.  But  with 
the  very  first  awakening  of  love  in  a  young  girl's 
heart  awaken  the  instincts  of  millinery.  She  collects 
together  such  dislocated  sewing  implements  as  the 
household  can  boast,  with  absorbed  interest  stitches 
down  a  fold  here,  puckers  up  a  plait  there ;  finally 
skips  lightly  out  of  her  own  dingy  Cinderella  frock, 
and  a  minute  later  stands  radiant,  in  the  majesty  of 
rustling  silk,  short  sleeves,  bare  throat,  and  train — a 
young  lady. 

She  is  not  an  ugly  girl,  after  all.  So  much  the 
tarnished  glass  upon  Miss  Burke's  dressing-table 
assures  her  promptly.  Pier  neck  and  shoulders  look 
lily  fair,  compared  to  the  sun  tan  of  her  face ;  her 
arms  are  delicately  fashioned  and  tolerably  plump  for 
seventeen.  But  the  pig-tails !  She  snatches  off  the 
hideous  frayed-ont  green  ribbons,  unplaits  them,  and 
behold  !  the  ill-kempt,  neglected  hair  falls  round  her 
slender  figure  in  waves  of  silky  chestnut.  A  pair  of 
gloves  of  Miss  Burke's  supplies  an  impromptu  cush- 
ion, over  which  she  coifs  it  high  above  her  forehead, 
as  the  little  Spanish  blonde  in  pink  (the  blonde 
Roger  Temple  admired)  was  coiffed  to-night.  A 
scarlet  passion-flower,  wet  with  dew  from  the  bal 
cony,  finishes  the  picture. 

Not  ugly  ?  Why,  she  is  pretty  already — a  year 
or  two  hence  will  be  admirably  so,  prettier  than  was 
even  Rose  in  her  prime,  thinks  Belinda,  gazing  at 
her  own  transfigured  self  in  a  kind  of  rapture.  The 


A  VAGABOND  HEROINE. 

only  thing  she  lacks  now  is  jewelry — ear-rings,  brace- 
lets, a  necklace  for  her  throat:  the  Jones  diamonds, 
in  short.  Pending  the  possessing  of  these,  could  no 
substitute  be  found  to  give  one  some  imperfect  fore- 
shadowing of  their  splendor  ? 

To  the  female  conscience,  once  fairly  deadened  by 
vanity,  all  successive  downward  steps  come  easily 
enough.  If  a  necklace  be  wanting,  a  necklace  must 
be  got :  honestly,  if  one  can,  but  got ! 

On  the  landing  of  the  second  floor  stands,  as  we 
know,  the  life-sized  figure  of  a  saint ;  martyred,  sat- 
in-slippered, glittering  with  gorgeous  paste  adorn- 
ments. If  the  good  old  Beata  would  only  lend  that 
necklace  of  hers  for  half  an  hour,  ten  minutes,  long 
enough  to  yield  one  some  faint  foretaste  of  the  sweets 
of  brilliants  !  If — assuming  her  permission — one 
were  to  borrow  it,  say  !  The  glass  case  can  be  open- 
ed by  a  cunning  hand  from  the  back :  this  fact  Be- 
linda discovered  when  the  first  floor  lodger  presented 
the  saint  with  a  new  lace  handkerchief  at  Easter. 
And  no  living  soul  is  about ;  and  it  could  not  surely 
be  much  of  a  sin,  considering  that  the  saint  is  but  a 
big  wax  doll  with  bead  eyes — and  indeed  if  it  were 
a  sin,  is  it  not  all-important,  Mr.  Jones  and  his  suit 
impending,  for  Belinda  to  ascertain,  practically, 
whether  diamonds  are  becoming  to  the  complex  o.i, 
and  so  worth  the  sacrifice  of  a  life  or  not  ? 

She  creeps  down  the  echoing  stone  stairs,  her 
heart  beating,  her  unaccustomed  feet  entangling 
themselves  at  every  movement  in  her  trailing  skirts  ; 
she  reaches  the  landing  of  the  second  floor.  There 


142  A  VAGABOND  HEROINE. 

stands  the  Beata,  her  livid  hands  crossed  on  her  breast, 
her  bead  eyes  awfully  wide  open.  There  are  the 
paste  brilliants.  A  straggling  moonbeam  rests  on 
them :  they  glitter  with  a  deathly,  horrible  fascina- 
tion. Belinda's  heart  and  courage  wax  chill. 

Suppose  the  outraged  saint  should  come  some 
night,  and,  standing  beside  her  bed,  lay  an  icy,  re- 
tributive hand  upon  her  face  ?  To  meddle  with  these 
holy  pel-sons'  beads,  for  aught  she  knows,  may  be  the 
most  mortal  of  crimes  ;  and — "  crime,  or  no  crime,  1 
will  do  it !  "  decides  the  girl  with  the  spasmodic 
coward's  courage  of  her  sex.  Now,  may  fortune  be 
her  friend  :  may  no  inmate  of  the  house  pass  from 
floor  to  floor  while  the  sacrilegious  act  is  being  car- 
ried into  effect. 

The  cranky  fastening  of  the  glass  door  gives  a 
groan  as  she  opens  it,  causing  Belinda's  guilty  con- 
science to  quake  again ;  but  no  ear  save  her  own 
hears  the  sound.  She  unclasps  the  necklace,  shiver- 
ing as  her  fingers  come  in  contact  with  the  clammy 
•wax  throat ;  then  bears  away  her  booty,  her  legs 
trembling  under  her  at  every  step  up  stairs.  She 
takes  it  to  the  light  of  her  solitary  candle  ;  admires 
its  mock  effulgence;  clasps  it,  trembling,  around  her 
little  warm,  soft  neck;  surveys  herself  on  tiptoe  in 
the  tarnished  mirror  above  the  chimney-piece;  and 
where  is  conscience  now,  where  remorse  ?  Admirable 
monitors  of  men  the  moment  possession  has  brought 
satiety,  why  is  it  that  conscience  and  remorse  hold 
their  peace  as  long  as  the  taste  of  the  apple  continues 
sweet  between  our  teeth  ? 


A  VAGABOND  HEROINE.  143 

She  surveys  herself,  M*ell  uigh  awe-stricken  by  her 
own  fairness.  She  feels  that  to  be  the  possessor  of 
real  diamonds  she  would  cheerfully  become  Mrs. 
Augustus  Jones  and  start  for  Clapham  to-morrow. 
Now,  nothing  is  wanting  but  a  fan  and  lovers.  The 
fan  can  be  had  ;  a  huge  gilt-and-black  structure  of 
the  date  of  thirty  years  ago,  which  lies  for  ornament 
on  the  mantel-shelf:  and  of  this  Belinda  possesses 
herself.  But  the  lovers  ?  Bah,  some  unimportant 
details  are  sure  to  be  wanting  at  every  rehearsal ! 
When  the  prologue  is  over,  the  play  played  out  in 
earnest,  the  lovers,  it  may  be  supposed,  will  come  of 
themselves. 

She  struts  up  and  down  the  room,  her  train  out- 
stretched, her  fan  in  motion,  her  eyes  glancing  com- 
placently at  the  mignon  little  figure  the  glass  gives 
her  duskily  back.  "If  Captain  Temple  could  see 
me — if  Captain  Temple  could  see  me  now  ! "  thinks 
\-anity.  "If  he  knew  I  could  be  anything  but  rag- 
ged, and  hideous,  and  a  gamin.  And  if  he  did  know 
this,  what  would  Captain  Temple  care  ?  "  says  another 
eterner  voice  than  that  of  vanity.  "  Of  what  account 
is  the  whole  world  to  him  by  the  side  of  Rose,  and 
Rose's  beauty  ? " 

A  sudden  leaden  weight  sinks  dead  on  Belinda's 
heart.  She  is  nothing  to  Roger  Temple ;  holds  no 
more  place  in  his  present  than  in  his  future.  She 
seems  to  stifle.  The  saint's  paste  diamonds  must 
surely  be  too  heavy,  so  painful  is  the  choking  feeling 
in  her  throat.  Turning  abruptly  away  from  the 
sight  of  her  finery  and  of  herself,  she  extinguishes 


144  A  VAGABOND  HEROINE. 

the  candle ;  then  goes  out,  bare-armed,  bare-necked, 
in  her  diamond  necklace  and  train,  upon  the  balcony. 

It  is  now  past  midnight,  and  something  like 
cooler  air  begins  to  stir  across  the  sleeping  country. 
Balmy  sweet  is  the  air ;  every  floor  of  the  vast  old 
house  has  its  balcony,  every  balcony  its  flowers ;  the 
gky  is  all  a-quiver  with  stars ;  mountains,  river, 
plains,  are  lying  in  one  great  hush  of  purple  sleep. 
Belinda  rests  her  arm  against  the  iron  balustrade, 
and,  gazing  away  westward  toward  the  rugged  line 
of  Spanish  coast,  muses. 

Spain  or  Clapham  ? 

She  has  learned  much  since  she  asked  herself  the 
same  question  this  afternoon  ;  unknowingly  has  pass- 
ed the  traditional  brook,  perhaps,  where  woman- 
hood and  childhood  meet;  for  very  certain  has  ac- 
cepted Mr.  Jones,  elected  in  cold  blood  for  Clapham 
— Clapham,  respectability,  riches.  And  yet — and 
yet,  if  Maria  Jose  (or  some  one  else)  were  to  appear 
before  her  just  now,  and — 

Click,  click !  goes  the  sharp  sound  of  a  vesuvian 
close,  as  it  seems,  beside  Belinda's  ear.  She  turns 
with  a  start,  and  there,  on  the  adjoining  baleon}7,  on 
robe  de  chambre,  and  placidly  lighting  his  midnight 
pipe  of  peace,  stands  Roger  Temple.  Roger  may 
breakfast  with  Rose,  dine  with  Rose,  walk  with 
Rose,  spend  any  number  of  hours  during  the  day 
that  he  chooses  alone  with  Rose ;  but  it  would  be  the 
acme  of  indiscretion  for  him  to  lodge  under  the  same 
roof  with  her.  Thus  the  widow  well  versed  in  the 
minutice  of  surface  morals,  decides.  And  so — from 


A  VAGABOND  HEROINE.  14-5 

Scylla  to  Charybdis — fate,  and  the  landlord  of  the 
Hotel  Isabella  together,  have  contrived  to  lodge  him 
under  the  same  roof  with  Belinda.  The  Maison 
Lohobiague  has  two  flights  of  stairs,  in  these  modern 
times  has  indeed  been  converted  into  two  distinct 
houses,  one  of  which  is  rented  by  the  people  of  the 
Isabella  as  a  succursale,  or  wing  for  overflowing 
guests,  during  the  bathing  season. 

Belinda  sees  him,  grasps  the  whole  dramatic 
capabilities  of  the  situation  in  a  moment,  but  gives 
no  sign.  I  have  said  that  nature  has  endowed  the 
child  with  abundant  imitative  talent ;  every-day  asso- 
ciation with  the  Basques,  the  most  excitement-seek- 
ing, play-loving  people  in  Europe,  has  stimulated 
the  talent  into  a  kind  of  passion.  Now,  she  feels,  is 
a  magnificent  opportunity  for  her  to  act — and  with  a 
purpose !  A  glance  at  Roger  Temple's  face  convin- 
ces her  that  he  does  not  recognize  Rose's  vagrant, 
out-at-elbows  stepdaughter  under  the  disguise  of 
civilization.  Now  she  will  have  a  rare  opportunity 
of  arriving  at  a  truth  or  two ;  now  may  she  even 
test  the  practical  worth  of  a  "  lifelong  fidelity,"  see 
if  this  devoted  lover  cannot  be  led  into  a  passing 
flirtation — moonlight,  loneliness,  the  certainty  of  the 
crime  remaining  undetected,  favoring. 

"With  an  unconsciousness  the  most  perfect  she 
resumes  her  former  attitude,  and  after  a  minute  or 
two  of  silence  sings,  in  that  undertone  for  which  we 
have  no  word  in  English,  the  whisper  of  singing,  a 
stanza  of  the  mendicant  student  serenade,  familiar 
from  one  end  of  the  Peninsula  to  the  other : 
7 


146  -A-  VAGABOND  HEROINE. 

Desde  que  soy  estudiante, 
Desde  que  llevo  manteo, 
No  he  comido  mas  que  sopas 
Con  suelas  de  zapatero. 

She  has  a  sweet,  a  sympathetic  voice — in  posse, 
like  the  beauty  of  her  face ;  and  melody  and  voice 
alike  harmonize  deliciously  with  e\7ery  external  acces- 
sory of  the  scene. 

"  Brava,  brava  ! "  exclaims  Roger,  when  she  has 
finished.  "  That  first  verse  was  so  excellently  sung 
that  it  makes  me  eager  for  the  second." 

Belinda,  thus  unceremoniously  accosted,  turns 
upon  him  in  all  the  conscious  virtue  of  a  trained 
dress  and  paste  necklace. 

"  Senor ! "  she  exclaims,  holding  her  head  up  with 
dignity,  and  in  such  a  position  that  the  moon  shines 
upon  its  soft  young  outline  full. 

"  I  beg  a  thousand  pardons,''  says  Roger,  putting 
his  pipe  hastily  out  of  sight.  "  But  the  senora's  song 
was  so  charming  that  I  forgot  that  we  had  no  master 
of  the  ceremonies  to  introduce  us.  Has  it  not  a  sec- 
ond verse  ?  " 

"  My  song  has  a  second  and  a  third  verse,"  replies 
Belinda,  in  English,  strongly  flavored  with  Castilian 
gutturals.  "  I  must  acquaint  his  lordship,  however, 
that  I  believed  myself  to  be  alone.  I  never  sing  for 
the  pleasure  of  strangers  except  when  I  am  on  the 
stage." 

"  The  stage ! "  repeats  Roger  Temple,  scrutinizing 
the  girlish  face  and  figure  critically.  "  Why,  is  it 
possible '. " 


A  VAGABOND  HEROINE.  147 

"  I  have  acted  as  long  as  I  can  remember,"  says 
Belinda,  with  all  the  effrontery  conceivable.  "  If  his 
English  excellency  has  travelled  through  any  of  the 
principal  Spanish  towns,  he  must  have  heard  me." 

"  When  the  seuora  favors  me  with  her  name  I 
shall  be  able  to  question  my  memory  more  accurate- 
ly," answers  Roger. 

Belinda  pauses  for  a  minute  or  two ;  then,  "  My 
name  on  the  stage  is  Lagrimas,"  she  tells  him,  "  or, 
as  you  would  say  it  in  English,  '  Tears.'  Doleful,  is 
it  not ;  but  I  do  not  wish  it  changed  ?  Who  would 
not  sooner  be  called  tears  than  laughter  ? " 

She  sighs,  and,  half  turning  from  him,  rests  her 
cheek  down  upon  the  graceful  bare  arms  that  lie 
folded  on  the  balcony.  Seen  thus  in  the  moonlight, 
her  bright  hair  falling  around  her  shoulders,  her 
childish  face  grown  pensive,  she  seems  to  Roger  as 
fair  a  little  creature  as  ever  blessed  man's  vision  in 
this  prosaic  world ;  and  his  pulse  quickens.  The 
balconies  are  distant  about  four  or  five  feet  from  each 
other.  Leaning  across  the  giddy  intervening  space, 
two  persons  of  steady  nerves  might  easily  clasp 
hands,  or  at  least  touch  fingers,  if  they  so  minded. 
They  are  alone  together,  he  and  this  girl,  absolutely 
alone,  as  were  the  first  pair  of  lovers  in  Eden ;  and 
yet  impassably  divided,  as  their  lives  are  destined  in 
very  fact  to  be  forevermore.  And  Roger's  pulse 
quickens. 

During  a  great  many  years  in  India,  I  believe 
firmly  (without  endorsing  Rosie's  sentimentalities  in 
general)  that  the  image  of  his  first  love  did  blind 


148  A  VAGABOND  HEROINE. 

Roger  Temple  to  most  other  women's  attractions. 
But  that  was  during  the  lifetime  of  the  successive 
husbands,  his  rivals;  while  his  passion  remained 
hopeless,  theoretic,  intangible.  Free,  he  continued 
faithful ;  bound — well,  we  will  not  say  that  his  fideli- 
ty for  a  moment  runs  any  serious  danger,  but  he  is 
undeniably  more  open  to  alien  impressions  than  he 
used  to  be  in  his  Indian  days.  Every  man  living, 
above  the  level  of  the  savage,  has  a  craving  after 
contrast,  as  strong  pretty  nearly  as  the  mere  physi- 
cal one  for  food  and  drink.  In  India,  Rose  Shelina- 
deane,  the  modest,  flower-faced  Rose  of  his  imagina- 
tion, was  his  contrast,  the  delightful  ideal  reverse  to 
all  the  women  he  lived  among.  R"ow,  alas !  now, 
every  woman  who  is  fresh  and  natural,  who  does  not 
wear  pearl  powder,  does  not  demand  tawdry  compli- 
ments as  a  right,  possesses  for  Roger  Temple  all  the 
fatal  charm  of  antithesis  ! 

"  Your  philosophy  is  beyond  your  years,  senora. 
Surely  nothing  should  seem  so  good  as  laughter  in 
one's  youth." 

"  Youth ! "  echoes  Belinda,  raising  her  head 
quickly,  and  forgetting  the  Spanish  accent  and  her 
assumed  character  together.  "  What  have  I  to  do 
with  youth,  sir  ?  "When  was  I  young  ?  Why,  from 
the  time  I  was  thirteen — " 

And  there  her  eyes  meet  Roger's  full,  full  in  the 
moonlight.  She  stops,  and  droops  her  face,  crimson- 
ing. 

"  Plenty  of  hard  training  has  come  to  me  in  my 
life,  seflor,"  she  goes  on  after  a  space,  but  without 


A  VAGABOND  HEROINE.  149 

lifting  her  eyes  again  to  his.  "  Sometimes  I  feel,  a 
little  too  keenly,  how  well  my  name  Lagrimas  fits  me. 
But  why  should  I  talk  of  such  things  to-night !  You 
know  rny  country,  Spain  ? "  turning  to  him  with  the 
most  irresistible  of  all  coquetry,  the  coquetry  of  ig- 
norance. "  No  ?  Well,  you  should  run  down  there 
some  day,  now  that  you  are  so  near.  I  will  be  your 
guide  if  you  choose." 

"  Done,"  says  Roger  gayly.  "  It  is  a  bargain 
that  we  take  a  Spanish  tour  together,  Senora  Lagri- 
mas, is  it  not  ? " 

"  I  don't  think  I  said  anything  about  '  together/ 
did  I?  But  never  mind  about  that.  Yes,  we  can 
go  down  to  Granada  first,  if  you  like.  It  will  take 
us  about  a  week  to  see  the  Alhambra,  and  then — 
But  is  his  Excellency  quite  sure,"  pointedly,  "that 
his  time  is  his  own,  that  his  friends  will  give  him 
leave  of  absence  ? " 

"  Oh,  no  question  of  that,"  says  Roger,  with  the 
airy  assurance  of  an  unfettered  man.  "  The  doubt 
is  rather,  will  the  Senora  Lagrimas  keep  her  prom- 
ise?" 

No  question  of  that !  Ready,  after  three  minutes' 
temptation,  to  be  led  captive  by  the  first  strolling 
actress  who  accosts  him  from  a  balcony !  So  much 
for  engaged  men,  thinks  Belinda.  So  much  for  the 
romance  of  two  young  hearts,  the  fidelity  of  a  life- 
time, etc.  Let  us  try  this  devoted  lover  of  Rose's  a 
little  further. 

"  I  mentioned  your  friends,  senor,  because  I  know 
that  you  are  not  alone  here.  You  may  not  have 


150  A  VAGABOND  HEROINE. 

noticed  me,  but  I  certainly  saw  you  to-night  at  the 
Casino  with  ladies." 

Roger  Temple  looks  the  very  picture  of  inno- 
cence. "At  the  Casino?"  he  repeats.  "With 
ladies?  Ah,  to  be  sure,  I  believe  I  did  speak  to 
some  English  acquaintances  of  mine  for  a  few  min- 
utes." 

"  There  was  an  ugly  little  girl  for  one  ;  a  girl 
very  sunburnt,  very  ill-dressed ;  you  danced  a  waltz 
with  her,  and  another  lady  not  so  young.  Your 
mamma,  probably,  senor  ? " 

"  Stepmamma,'1  assents  Roger  unblushingly, 
"  and  the  stepmamma  also  of  the  little  sunburnt  girl 
with  whom  I  danced.'3 

"  Consequently  you  and  the  girl  are — are " 

"  Ah,  that  is  a  knotty  point,  the  precise  relation- 
ship between  that  young  lady  and  myself.  I  will 
not  allow  you  to  call  her  ugly  though,  Seuora  Lagri- 
mas.  Sunburnt  she  is;  ill-dressed  she  may  be;  ugly 
never." 

"  Well,  for  my  part,  I  do  not  see  a  good  feature 
in  the  young  person's  tace,''  says  "  Lagrimas,"  with 
a  contemptuous  shrug  of  her  shoulders.  "A  skin 
like  a  gypsy's,  a  wide  mouth,  a  low  forehead  !  " 

"  Magnificent  eyes  and  eyelashes,  teeth  like  ivory, 
graceful  little  hands  and  feet,  and  the  sweetest  smile, 
when  she  chooses  to  smile,  in  the  world." 

"  I  should  think  her  a  vile  temper,  judging  by 
her  expression ;  and  as  to  her  manners !  I  have 
been  here  some  time,  senor.  I  know  the  girl  by 
sight,  and  by  reputation.  She  plays  boys'  games 


A  VAGABOND  HEROINE.  J51 

with  boys;  robs  henroosts  after  dusk,  with  that  dog 
of  hers ;  she  talks — swears,  some  people  will  tell  you 
— like  a  gamin  of  the  streets,  and — " 

"  And  for  each  and  all  of  these  small  oddities  I 
like  her  the  better,"  interrupts  Roger  warmly. 
"  Belinda  is  just  the  kind  of  girl  to  grow  into  the 
most  charming  of  women,  in  time." 

"  A  charming  woman  !  After  the  pattern  of  the 
other  lady  who  is  not  so  young,  the  stepmamma  ? " 

"  Xo,  not  after  that  pattern  precisely,  senora. 
Your  vast  experience  must  have  taught  you,  surely, 
that  there  are  more  kinds  of  charming  women  in  the 
world  than  one.  Belinda  has  been  ueg — allowed  to 
run  a  little  too  wild,  hitherto ;  but  circumstances,  I 
am  happy  to  say,  will  place  her  under  my  guidance 
no\v.;' 

"  Will  they,  will  they  indeed,  Captain  Temple ! " 
interpolates  Belinda  mentally.  "  We  shall  see  more 
about  that  by  and  by ! " 

"  She  will  live  in  my  house,  will  stand  to  me  in 
the  position  of  a  daughter,  and  I  mean  to  reform 
her." 

"  Ah,  heavens,  how  praiseworthy  !  How  Chris- 
tian !  Reform  Belinda  (  With  the  aid  of  a  prim 
English  governess  and  a  staff  of  attendant  pastors 
and  masters,  of  course  ? " 

"Well,  no,"  answers  Roger.  "I  have  no  great 
belief  in  prim  English  governesses,  neither  are  pas- 
tors or  masters  very  much  more  to  my  taste.  I  shall 
reform  Belinda,  as  much  as  she  needs  reforming,  by 


152  A  VAGABOND  HEROINE. 

kindness  alone.  It  strikes  me  that  what  the  poor  lit- 
tle girl  wants  is  not  sternness,  but  love." 

Belinda  turns  her  head  away  with  a  jerk ;  her 
throat  swells,  the  big  tears  rise  in  her  eyes.  If  he 
had  said  anything  but  this,  if  he  had  called  her  ugly, 
wicked,  any  hard  name  he  chose,  she  could  have 
borne  it  better ! 

"  Belinda  should  be  extremely  grateful  for  your 
— your  pity  !  "  she  remarks,  as  soon  as  she  can  com- 
mand her  voice  enough  to  speak.  "  For  my  part,  I 
don't  in  the  least  value  that  kind  of  regard." 

"  No  ?  And  what  kind  of  regard  do  you  value, 
may  I  ask  ? "  says  Roger  Temple,  his  tone  softening. 

"  Ah — what  kind  ?  when  I  have  known  you  a  lit- 
tle longer  than  ten  minutes  I  will  tell  you.'' 

"  The  day  we  visit  the  Alhambra  together,  for 
instance  ? " 

"  Perhaps.  Meantime,  in  Belinda's  name,  I  .thank 
you  a  thousand  times  for  the  pity  you  are  charitable 
enough  to  bestow  upon  her !  Good-night,  senor.  I 
leave  you  to  think  over  your  fine  projects  of  reforma- 
tion alone." 

And  with  a  mocking  reverence  "Lagrimas"  sa- 
lutes him ;  then,  assuming  the  air  of  a  princess  at 
least,  and  with  a  grand  sweep  of  her  rustling  silken 
train,  leaves  the  balcony. 

She  quits  him,  I  say,  with  the  air  of  a  princess ; 
the  moment  she  is  out  of  sight,  turns,  peeps  through 
a  rent  in  the  dilapidated  Venetian  blind,  listens  with 
eager,  breathless  curiosity  to  find  out  what  Koger 
Temple  will  do  next. 


A  VAGABOND  HEROINE.  153 

Captain  Temple  for  a  minute  or  two  keeps  silence. 
Then  "  Senora,  Senora  Lagrimas,"  he  cries  softly. 

But  no  answer  comes  to  his  appeal. 

"  Only  one  word — do  you  live  here?  Is  there 
any  chance  of  my  seeing  you  again  to-morrow 
night  ? " 

Belinda  is  mute  as  fate. 

"  I  shall  listen  for  your  voice  toward  eleven 
O'clock.  If  you  do  not  take  pity  on  me,  I  shall 
remain  out  here  all  night,  remember,  heart-broken." 

"So  much  for  engaged  men,  I  say,"  thinks 
Belinda.  "  Oh,  if  I  was  really  wicked — if  I  was  half 
as  bad  as  they  give  me  credit  ibr — could  we  not  have 
a  comedy  in  earnest  out  of  all  this  ? '' 

She  retreats  toward  the  middle  of  the  room,  and, 
under  her  voice,  sings  another  verse  of  the  serenade : 

Es  tanta  la  hambre  que  tengo, 
Que  ahora  mismo  me  comiera 
Los  bierros  de  ese  balcon, 
Y  el  cuerpo  de  mi  morena  1 

Then  she  steals  back  to  the  window  to  listen  ;  her 
heart  beating  till  she  can  hear  its  beats,  her  very 
finger-tips  tingling  with  excitement,  so  carried  away 
is  she  by  this  role  of  temptress  that  she  is  playing — 
the  most  fascinating  role  (save  one,  perhaps)  of  the 
whole  little  repertory  of  woman's  life ! 

"  The  balconies  are  not  very  far  apart,  seiiora," 
remarks  Roger  presently.  "  It  would  be  quite  pos- 
sible for  a  desperate  man  to  leap  from  one  to  the 
other." 

7* 


154-  A  VAGABOND  HEROINE. 

A  half-suppressed  malicious  laugh  is  the  senora's 
only  reply  to  this  thrilling  suggestion. 

"  I  shall  certainly  make  the  attempt  before  long, 
and  if  I  fail,  mind — if  I  fall,  and  am  stifled  down  in 
all  that  harbor  mud  below,  my  death" — plaintively 
— "  will  be  upon  your  conscience." 

A  laugh,  rather  more  malicious,  rather  louder 
than  before,  is  her  reply. 

"  Seiiora  Lagrimas !  for  the  last  time,  will  you  or 
will  you  not  come  out  and  speak  to  me  ?  " 

And  once  more  Belinda's  silence  says  " No" 

"  I  give  you  three  chances,  Senora  Lagrimas." 

Silence. 

"  Lagrimas  1 " 

Silence. 

"  Belinda,  my  dear ! " 

She  flashes  out  upon  him  like  a  storm-wind  ;  her 
lips  apart,  her  eyes  gleaming,  so  that  they  eclipse  the 
saint's  diamonds  on  her  throat. 

"  You — you  dare  to  say  yon  recognized  me  all 
the  time?"  This  she  asks  him  as  soon  as  her  indig- 
nation gives  her  breath  to  speak. 

"  I  recognized  you  all  the  time,"  Roger  confesses 
humbly.  "  I  knew  you  when  I  was  lighting  my 
pipe ;  I  believe,  before  you  saw  me  at  all.  Why  in 
the  world  should  I  not  recognize  you,  my  dear 
child?" 

"  Because  I  had  been  fool  enough  to  disguise 
myself  under  this  rubbish."  "With  a  fierce  little 
gesture  she  apostrophizes  Miss  Burke's  fine  silk. 
"Because — oh,  if  I  had  known,  if  I  could  have 


VAGABOND  HEROINE.  155 

guessed  that  you,  of  all  people,  would  see  me !  And 
the  nonsense  you  talked,  sir;  the  nonsense  you  dared 
to  talk,  knowing  it  to  be  me !  " 

"  We  have  been  talking  very  pleasantly,"  answers 
Roger  Temple.  "  I  cannot  say  I  remember  talking 
any  particular  nonsense." 

"  What,  not  when  you  told  me  to  my  face  that 
circumstances  had  put  me  under  your  guidance,  that 
you  meant  to  reform  me  ?  You  to  reform  me  !  " 

"  It  was  a  rash  speech,  I  admit.  I  am  not  so  sure 
that  it  was  nonsense." 

"  And  then  our  tour  in  Spain — but  you  shall  keep 
to  that,  you  shall  keep  to  that,  Captain  Temple! 
"Whatever  Rose  says,  and  whether  the  scheme  is  up 
to  the  Miss  Ingram  standard  of  propriety  or  beneath 
it,  I  mean  to  hold  you  to  your  word.  We  are  going 
to  spend  a  week  in  Granada  together,  you  and  I." 

"  Of  course ;  Rosie  with  us.  What  could  be 
pleasanter  ?  Rosie  with  us,  and — 

"  And  Augustus  Jones,  too,  if  you  please,"  inter- 
rupts Belinda,  a  curiously  abrupt  transition  in  her 
voice.  "In  the  selfishness  of  your  own  happiness, 
you  and  Rose,  you  seem  entirely  to  forget  other 
people's.  I  go  nowhere  without  Augustus,  now." 

"  Without  Augustus,"  repeats  Roger  blankly. 
"  Why,  Belinda,  is  it  possible — can  you  mean — " 

"  I  mean  that  I  will  go  nowhere  without  Mr. 
Jones.  ISTow  come,  Captain  Temple,  or,  as  we  are 
discussing  family  matters,  let  me  call  you  by  a 
sweeter  future  name — come  now,  steppapa,  don't 
pretend!  No  concealment  between  near  and  dear 


156  A  VAGABOND  HEROINE. 

relatives.  As  if  you  and  Rosie  did  not  know  every- 
thing about  my  poor  Augustus  just  as  well  as  I  do ! " 

"  I  should  be  very  sorry  to  know  one  thing,"  says 
Roger,  culpably  negligent  of  his  future  match-mak- 
ing duties  as  a  parent.  u  I  should  be  very  sorry  to 
know  that  you  cared  seriously,  young,  ignorant  of 
life  as  you  are,  for  a  person  like — Jones !  " 

It  seemed  as  though  the  obnoxious  monosyllable 
would  nearly  choke  him. 

"  Care !  And,  pray,  who  said  anything  about 
caring,  sir  ?  I  am  going  to  marry  Mr.  Jones — we 
settled  the  whole  affair  to-night — marry,  not  care  for 
him." 

Marry,  not  care  for  him.  .As  much  repulsion  as 
a  man  can  feel,  theoretically,  toward  a  distractingly 
pretty  little  girl,  not  five  feet  distant  from  him  in  the 
moonlight,  Roger  feels  at  this  moment  toward  Belin- 
da O'Shea.  Rose  was  right.  The  Yansittart  blood 
runs  in  her  veins,  poor  child,  and  the  blood  is  bad ! 
Scarce  seventeen  yet  and  she  has  the  cold,  mercenary 
instincts  of  a  woman  of  thirty,  and  not  by  any  means 
a  good  woman  of  thirty,  either ! 

"  You  are  slow  with  your  congratulations — and 
the  match  is  really  a  desirable  one,  steppapa ;  not  of 
course,  for  a  moment,  speaking  of  Augustus  person- 
ally. Bran-new  villar  at  Clapham — if  he  does  leave 
out  a  few  of  his  h's,  poor  fellow,  he  makes  up  amply 
for  them  with  his  r's  —villar  at  Clapham,  opera  box, 
diamonds.  My  appearance  is  greatly  improved  by 
diamonds,  is  it  not  ?"  Holding  up  a  pendant  of  the 
saint's  necklace  between  her  fingers. 


A  VAGABOND  HEROINE.  157 

"  Certainly.  What  lily  is  not  improved  b j  a  lit- 
tle paint  ?  All  that  glittering  finery  is  Mr.  Jones's 
first  offering,  I  presume." 

"  No,''  answers  Belinda  calmly.  "  There  has  not 
been  time,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  for  offerings  yet.  He 
walked  home  with  me  after  I  left  you  and  Rose  at 
the  Casino  (poor  Augustus  felt,  as  I  did,  that  our 
company  was  not  wanted),  and  I  invited  him  in,  just 
to  keep  me  company  while  I  ate  my  supper.  And 
he  proposed*" 

"  He  proposed.     And  you — " 

"  Accepted  him,  steppapa — what  else  should  I 
do?  And  then,  when  I  was  alone  again,  the  thought 
struck  me  of  borrowing  Burke's  Sunday  silk,  just  to 
see  how  I  liked  the  taste  of  fine  clothes  ;  and  I  stole 
this  necklace,  sir,  from  the  throat  of  old  Beata  who 
lives  on  our  second  landing — a  paste  necklace  only, 
not  real  diamonds  such  as  I  shall  have  when  I  am 
Mrs.  Augustus  Jones  !  Was  it  wicked,  I  wonder  ? " 
sudden  compunction  for  the  sacrilege  she  has  com- 
mitted coming  back  upon  her.  "  Captain  Temple, 
do  you  think  now  the  blessed  old  saints,  when  they 
are  once  safe  in  heaven,  ever  trouble  themselves 
about  the  jewels  they  have  left  behind  them  OB. 
earth  ? " 

Roger  is  silent.  Belinda's  worldliness  has  re- 
pulsed him  to  such  a  degree  that  he  can  no  longer 
smile  at  her  rattling  talk ;  and  still  she  fascinates  him 
more  and  more.  Girlish  she  is  not :  deliberately,  in 
cold  blood,  has  she  not  sold  herself  to  a  man  she  de- 
spises, openly  glorying  in  the  bargain  \  Feminine 


158  A  VAGABOND  HEROINE. 

she  is  not:  right  well  can  he  imagine  those  eyes  of 
hers  flashing,  those  lips  quivering  with  the  fierce  ex- 
citement of  a  bull-fight.  Innocent  she  is  not :  wit- 
ness the  stories  she  told  them  at  the  Casino,  the  gus- 
to with  which,  ten  minutes  ago,  she  sustained  her 
part  of  Lagrimas?  And  still,  devoid  though  she 
be  of  every  virtue  that  can  be  catalogued,  there  is  in 
her  a  charm  more  potent  than  all  the  cardinal  virtues 
put  together.  Some  few  exceptional  people  exist  in 
this  world  who  are  a  law  unto  themselves ;  people 
endowed  with  that  rarest  of  gifts,  the  fine  flavor  of 
perfect  originality,  and  whose  qualities  are  not  to  be 
measured  out  by  the  common  foot-rule  of  good  and 
evil.  Belinda  is  one  of  them.  And  Roger  Temple, 
cruel  malice  of  fate,  is  precisely  the  man  to  appreciate 
the  wild  bitter-sweetness  of  her  character  to  the  utter- 
most. Men  of  his  semi-poetic  stamp  fall  in  love  often 
with  conventional  dolls,  as  he  has  done;  many  conven- 
tional dolls,  as  he  will  do  ;  and,  pathetically  conscious 
that  the  nearest  relations  of  thi-ir  lives  have  been  in- 
complete, go  to  their  grave  without  tasting  the  nec- 
tar of  true  passion  once,  for  sheer  lack  of  opportuni- 
ty. But  let  opportunity  come !  Let.  a  woman,  fresh 
and  faulty  from  nature's  hand,  cross  their  path — 

Well,  our  little  story  of  elective  affinities  has  not 
progressed  as  far  as  that  yet.  Roger  is  engaged  fr> 
Rose,  Belinda  to  Mr.  Jones ;  and  Belinda  and  Roger 
are  nothing  to  each  other,  for  one  more  quarter  of  an 
hour  at  all  events. 

They  talked  on  and  on,  and  presently  Augustus 
is  forgotten,  and  presently  Rose.  Belinda  is  Lagri- 


A  VAGABOND  HEROINE.  159 

mas  again,  and  Roger  the  wandering  Englishman  who 
lias  fallen  but  too  quickly  a  victim  to  Lagrimas's 
charms.  By  and  by  the  air,  all  at  once,  grows  fresh  ; 
a  flicker  of  pink  light  begins  to  show  above  the  glori- 
ous chain  of  mountain  peak  toward  the  east,  and  with 
a  start  Belinda  realizes  that  it  is  morning — that  Miss 
Burke  will  be  back  before  noon,  that  Ro°:er  is  the  lov- 

'  <? 

er  of  Rose,  and  that  she  has  decided  to  spend  her  life 
at  Clapham  with  Mr.  Augustus  Jones ! 

"  Captain  Temple,  do  you  know  that  the  sun  is 
going  to  rise,  that  we  have  been  out  here  since  mid- 
night, you  and  I 't  I  hope  you  never  mean  to  talk  of 
reforming  me  again.  Oh,  if  Rose  knew  !  Shall  you 
tell  her?" 

"  Shall  you  tell  Mr.  Jones,  Belinda  ? " 

And  then  their  eyes  meet,  with  a  sweet  stidden 
look  of  intimacy ;  they  have  been  acquainted  now 
near  upon  a  dozen  hours,  and  the  girl  questions  him 
no  more. 

They  bid  good-by  and  part ;  the  tacit  promise  ex- 
changed, though  no  word  of  promise  be  spoken,  of 
seeing  each  other  at  the  same  place  and  time  to-mor- 
row night.  And  then,  left  alone  to  conscience  and 
tobacco,  Roger  Temple,  it  may  be  hoped,  feels  some 
misgivings  as  to  the  wisdom  of  his  first  attempt  at  re- 
formation, some  doubts  as  to  the  safety  of  this  close 
neighborhood  of  balconies.  As  for  Belinda — Belinda 
has  passed  her  seventeen  years  of  life,  reader,  in  a 
moral  atmosphere  unfavorable  to  the  development  of 
casuistic  niceties,  and  she  is  simply  in  a  seventh 
heaven  of  happiness.  Really  in  love  with  Roger 


160  A  VAGABOND  HEROINE. 

Temple,  after  one  night's  flirtation  on  a  balcony,  she 
is  not;  but  she  is  in  the  state  dangerously  apt  to 
precede  real  love  in  a  very  young  and  very  natural 
girl's  heart.  Vanity  sweetly  flattered,  imagination 
kindled,  just  the  least  little  delightful  thrilling  sense 
of  treading  on  thin  ice  aroused.  Oh,  blessed  pru- 
dishness  that  made  Rose  banish  him  from  beneath 
the  roof  of  her  hotel  ?  Oh,  blessed  chance  that  sent 
him  to  a  room  and  balcony  in  the  Maison  Lohobia- 
gue !  Stealing  to  the  dusky  mirror,  she  smiles  at  her 
own  image  in  the  day-dawn,  unwittingly  loosens  the 
half-dead  passion-flower  from  her  hair,  then,  exchang- 
ing Miss  Burke's  training  silk  for  her  own  shabby 
Cinderella  frock,  creeps  down  to  the  second  floor  with 
the  borrowed  brilliants,  and  actually  gives  the  saint's 
cold  hand  a  kiss  of  gratitude  as  she  replaces  them. 

Poor  good  old  Beata — shut  away  in  her  glass-case, 
from  moonlight,  flower-scents,  handsome  faces  ;  from 
all  the  pleasant  things  we  still  enjoy  and  sin  through 
in  the  flesh  !  Something  in  the  peculiar  waxy  flavor 
of  the  hand  carries  Belinda  back,  in  remembrance,  to 
the  days  of  the  Irish  convent,  when  her  highest  re- 
ward for  any  exceptional  good  conduct  was  to  be  held 
aloft  and  allowed  to  salute  the  fingers  or  toes  of  some 
'glass-encased  beatitude.  The  remembrance  leads  on 
to  another.  At  the  end  of  the  convent  garden,  shel- 
tered by  thickest  growing  wych-elms,  was  a  certain 
walk,  from  whence  could  be  seen,  through  iron  rail- 
ings, the  world — wicked  outer  world  of  men  and  wom- 
en, passing  along  one  of  the  smaller  streets  of  Cork. 
None  of  the  small  children  were  ever  allowed  to  tread 


A  VAGABOND  HEROINE. 

that  walk  ;  and  to  deter  them  thence,  the  old  French, 
mm  who  watched  their  play  used  to  speak  of  it,  be- 
neath her  breath,  as  "le  bout  du  monde."  No  good 
little  girl  could  surely  wish  to  go  to  the  "  bout  du 
monde  !  "  And  Belinda  did  wish  it  passionately,  and 
though  she  obeyed  the  letter  of  the  injunction 
through  love — her  highest,  only  law — never  ceased 
to  gaze  with  longing  eyes  toward  the  spot  whose  for- 
bidden imagined  delights  rendered  all  the  legitimate 
garden  walks  so  tasteless. 

Does  the  same  taint  of  primeval  sin  lurk  in  her 
heart  still  ? 

When  she  returns  up  stairs,  she  peeps  once  more 
through  the  dilapidated  Venetian  at  her  neighbor's 
balcony ;  she  smells  the  odor  of  his  pipe,  muses  awhile 
on  Lagrimas,  Granada,  Alhambra — her  "bout  du 
monde"  now — 

And  then  she  goes  to  her  pillow  and  dreams  ;  not 
of  any  perplexing  questions  of  meum  and  tuum  ;  not 
of  Rosie's  lover,  not  of  her  own  ;  but  of  boleros,  bull- 
fights, henroost  robbing  with  Costa,  and  similar 
every-day  diversions  of  her  vagabond  life. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

THE   FINGER    OF   FATE. 

OSE  is  a  woman  of  whom  it  may  be  fairly 
said  that  to  love  her  is  a  liberal  education  in 
folly. 

Roger  Temple  finds  his  acquirements  in 
this""  valuable  branch  of  knowledge  ever  steadily 
increasing.  Leaving  her  of  an  evening  in  as  dead- 
ened a  state  of  brain  as  the  utterances  of  a  beloved 
object  can  possibly  induce,  it  seems  to  him  at  times 
that  even  Rose  can  never  astonish  him  more  on  the 
score  of  unreason.  And  lo,  next  morning,  she  star- 
tles him  with  some  new  outbreak,  some  fresh  vagary 
of  millinery,  mind,  or  morals,  that  leaves  all  past 
ones  far  behind ! 

Upon  a  clever  woman,  a  good  woman,  a  wicked 
woman,  a  man  may  in  some  measure  count;  upon  a 
foolish  one  never.  Folly,  a  certain  pitch  attained, 
seems  inexhaustible  as  genius  itself — possibly,  if 
mental  qualities  could  be  put  to  the  same  nice  tests 
as  material  ones,  might  prove  to  be  genius  of  some 
spurious  or  bastard  kind.  Especially  in  aught  that 


A  VAGABOND  IIEKOIXE.  103 

ministers  to  personal  vanity  is  this  inexhaustibleness 
patent.  Women  you  may  iind  in  plenty  who  believe 
one  man,  two  men,  twenty  men,  to  be  their  victims. 
Rose  is  ready,  on  the  weakest  evidence,  or  on  no 
evidence  at  all,  to  believe  it  of  the  universe.  Borne 
on  the  strong  pinion  of  vanity,  she  can  even  rise  to 
being  imaginative,  as  the  sequel  of  this  history  will 
sho\v. 

"You  would  never  guess  what  has  happened, 
Roger,  never  !  And  I  am  not  at  all  sure  that  I  am 
wise  to  tell  you,  you  naughty,  naughty,  jealous  man 
— only  when  he  comes  it  may  be  worse ! " 

It  is  noon  next  day  ;  and  in  Rosie's  cool,  Moorish- 
looking  drawing-room  at  the  Isabella  the  lovers  are 
love-making,  the  widow  in  an  embroidered  India 
muslin  wrapper  (one  of  the  eight  becoming  morning 
dresses  she  has  brought  with  her  from  London),  and 
as  coy  and  coquettish  and  playful  of  demeanor  as 
any  youthful  bride  of  eighteen. 

"  If  it  will  ease  your  conscience  to  make  confes- 
sion, I  promise  solemnly  to  restrain  my  jealousy," 
says  Roger ;  not,  it  may  be  presumed,  without  some 
uneasy  conscience  twinges  of  his  own.  "  You  have 
made  another  conquest,  Rose  ? " 

The  droop  of  Mrs.  O'Shea's  eyelids  says  yes. 

"  I  was  sure  of  it.  That  little  Portuguese  Jew 
at  breakfast — no,  the  Spanish  officer  last  night  at  the 
Casino !  Rose,  if  it  is  that  good-looking  Spanish 
scoundrel — " 

"  Oh,  Roger,  don't  be  violent!  How  can  I  help 
men  being  so  ridiculous?  and  I,  who  never  give  any 


1(54  A  VAGABOND  HEROINE. 

one  any  encouragement !  No,  it  is  neither  the  Span- 
iard nor  the  Portuguese — I  mean  it  is  some  one  else 
as  well.  Oh,  I  do  feel  so  guilty,  I'm  sure  these 
things  never  happen  to  anybody  but  me.'' 

"  I  dare  say  they  happen  to  most  pretty  women," 
says  Roger.  He  seldom  lets  go  an  opportunity  of 
administering  the  expected  lump  of  sugar  to  the 
widow's  lips.  "  But  put  me  out  of  my  torture,  quick. 
Who  is  my  latest  rival,  Rosie  1 " 

"  Well,  you  must  know,  dear,  Spencer  went  to 
the  post-office  this  morning  and  there  was  a  letter 
for  me." 

"  It  was  a  declaration  ? '' 

"  It  was  from  cook.  I  left  orders  with  her  to 
write  regularly  every  week — and  indeed  a  friend  of 
Spencer's  is  staying  in  the  house  as  a  precaution.  I 
never  like  to  doubt  the  honesty  of  the  lower  classes, 
Roger,  and  of  course  yon  cannot  make  away  with 
tables  and  chairs ;  still  there  are  the  clocks  and  the 
ornaments,  and  as  to  house  linen — " 

"  But  my  rival,  Rosie,  my  rival  ?  While  you 
talk  about  the  cook  and  the  house  linen,  I  am  burn- 
ing with  impatience,  remember." 

For  once  at  least  during  his  courtship,  Roger 
Temple  contrives  to  unite  veracity  with  sweetness. 

"  Well,  it  seems  he  called  very  soon  after  he 
left.  'A  tall,  military-looking  gentleman  with  a 
moustache,'  cook  says,  'and  would  take  no  denial, 
but  walked  in  as  if  the  place  was  his  own' — those 
are  exactly  her  words — '  and  looked  round  at  every- 
thing, and  particularly  hard  at  the  photograph  of 


A  VAGABOND  HEROINE.  165 

Captain  Temple  in  the  breakfast  room.'  Ah,  Roger, 
what  he  must  have  suffered !  Well  I  know  what  lie 
must  have  suffered  at  that  moment  ? " 

"  What  who  must  have  suffered,  my  love  ?  The 
end  of  the  story  is  naturally  that  cook  searched  for 
the  teaspoons  on  the  military  gentleman's  departure, 
and  found  them  missing/' 

"  The  end  of  the  story  is  nothing  of  the  kind," 
says  Rose,  fluttering  up  her  feathers  like  a  little  spar- 
row. "  The  end  of  the  story  is  that  cook  gave  him 
my  address  here — and  I  am  afraid  told  him  other  news 
that  made  him  most  unhappy — and  he  said  he  should 
follow  me  straight  to  St.  Jean  de  Luz.  I  call  that 
something  like  constancy,  poor  fellow!  Although 
he  must  have  known  the  hopelessness  of  his  position, 
to  resolve,  without  a  moment's  hesitation,  upon  fol 
lowing  me." 

"  Other  people,  knowing  the  hopelessness  of 
their  position,  have  remained  constant  to  you,  Rose," 
says  Roger  Temple  tenderly. 

Does  it  flash  across  his  mind  that  fidelity  seems 
to  be  more  closely  allied  with  the  state  of  hopeless- 
ness than  with  that  of  hope? 

"  And  now  I  shall  have  you  both  upon  my  hands 
at  once.  And  I  am  sure  he  is  of  the  most  fiery  ^ 
combative  temperament — those  glowering  deep-set 
eyes  that  give  a  man  such  a  look  of  power,  and  beau- 
tiful, long,  auburn  moustache,  and  six  feet  one  at 
least,"  adds  Rose  with  a  reproachful  glance  at  her 
lover's  inferior  stature. 

"  Rosie,"  says  Roger,  with  a  thoroughly  sincere 


166  A  VAGABOND  HEROINE. 

sigh,  "  do  you  warn  to  drive  me  clean  out  of  my 
senses?  Who  is  he?  Deep-set  eyes,  auburn  mous- 
tache, power,  and  six  feet  one  !  I  cannot  endure 
it,  Rosie.  There  are  limits,  remember,  even  to  my 
long-suffering." 

Hose  dimples  and  colors  and  casts  her  eyelids  up 
and  down  as,  all  unsuspicious  of  latent  irony,  she 
drinks  in  this  flattery  which  is  the  very  meat  and 
drink  of  her  small  soul. 

"  It  is  Colonel  Drewe,  then,  as  you  insist  upon 
knowing.  He  refused,  it  seems,  to  give  his  name  to 
the  servants,  but  I — oh,  there  are  intuitions  that 
cannot  be  mistaken.  It  is  Stanley  Drewe." 

"  Drewe,  Drewe — the  lackadaisical  old  dandy 
with  a  flower  in  his  button-hole,  whom  you  have  got 
in  your  photograph  book  ?  You  had  a  tremendous 
flirtation  with  Colonel  Drewe  once,  my  dear,  had 
you  not  ? " 

"  You  would  not  blame  me  in  that  affair,  Roger, 
if  you  knew  all.  You  were  far  away  in  India ;  in- 
deed, it  was  in  poor  Major  O'Shea's  lifetime,  and  1 
am  sure  his  passions  were  so  violent  I  never  dared 
look  at  any  man  twice.  But  whatever  party  I  AVUS 
seen  at  during  one  whole  season,  Colonel  Drewe 
was  certain  to  be  there  too.  If  I  went  to  the  opera 
I  saw  him.  If  I  drove  in  the  park  I  saw  him.  It 
was  an  infatuation,  and  if  I  had  been  free — however, 
I  was  not  free ! "  says  Rose  in  a  tone  of  exquisite 
abnegation.  "  I  was  not  free,  and  he  behaved  beau- 
tifully, poor  Stanley !  He  went  to  Gibraltar  with 
his  regiment,  and  we  have  corresponded  a  little  since ; 


A  VAGABOND  HEROINE.  167 

only  the  other  day,  indeed,  I  sent  him  an  announce- 
ment of  Uncle  Robert's  death.  What  a  blow  this 
must  be  to  him !  " 

A  look  not  so  much,  of  anger  as  of  pain  passes 
over  Roger  Temple's  face.  He  may  have  ceased  to 
be  enamored  of  Rose  ;  he  has  not  ceased  to  be  en- 
amored of  his  own  ideal  love  for  her :  the  love  which, 
wise  or  foolish  in  itself,  has  for  a  dozen  years  been 
part  and  parcel  of  his  life.  For  the  sake  of  that, 
not  because  of  the  fade  flirtation  of  these  two  elderly 
London  butterflies,  he  feels  wounded. 

"A  blow  to  Colonel  Drewe!  What — our  en- 
gagement, Rosie  ?  Had  matters  gone  so  far  between 
you  then,  that  Colonel  Drewe  has  a  right  to  con- 
sider your  marrying  another  man  than  himself  'a 
blow''?" 

"•  Ah,  Roger  dearest,  I  implore  you  not  to  be 
angry!  How  can  I  control  poor  Stanley's  feelings? 
I  declare  between  you  all,  I  don't  know  which  way 
to  turn.  And  now  to  think  of  the  dreadful  embar- 
rassment of  having  him  here  !  " 

"  As  far  as  I  am  concerned,  there  will  be  none 
whatsoever,"  answers  Roger  coldly.  "You  and  Col- 
onel Drewe,  of  course  know  best  what  reason  you 
have  for  embarrassment." 

He  is  annoyed,  lowered,  for  her  sake,  rather  than 
his  own.  But  Rose,  who  is  no  adept  at  reading  the 
character  of  others,  sets  him  down  simply  as  "jealous5' 
(a  mistake  into  which  vanity  not  unfrequently  con- 
ducts intelligence  of  her  calibre),  and  twitters  on 
and  on  about  poor  Stanley's  infatuation  and  deep- 


168  A  VAGABOND  HEROINE. 

set  eyes,  and  her  own  innocence  and  the  embarrass 
ment  of  riches  that  awaits  her  in  the  way  of  admir- 
ers, until  the  very  excess  of  her  folly  brings  her 
lover  back  to  good-temper.  Dear  simple-hearted 
little  Rosie!  Who  can  be  angry  with  her  long? 
Her  vanities  are  so  childlike,  her  flirtations,  like  her 
whole  character,  so  transparent. 

"  You  may  be  sure  he  rushed  to  England  as  soon 
as  ever  he  got  the  news  of  Uncle  Robert's  death.  I 
am  not  a  fool,  Roger,  and  I  don't  think  myself  quite 
hideous,  but  I  know  very  well  that  men  like  to  marry 
money,  and  that  in  iny  small  way  I  am  an  heiress ! 
Can't  you  fancy  him  looking  round  the  house  specu- 
lating f  And  then  to  come  upon  your  portrait.  I 
wonder,  now,  whether  it  was  quite  proper  of  me  to 
have  it  hung  up  yet  ?  Nothing  would  pain  me  more 
than  for  Colonel  Drewe  to  think  me  indelicate." 

"  "We  are  certain,  I  suppose,  that  it  is  Colonel 
Drewe,  Rosie  ?  There  is  no  one  else  among  your 
numerous  victims  whom  the  cap  could  fit  ?  " 

Oh,  yes,  on  this  point  Rosie  is  confident.  If  it 
had  not  been  for  the  moustache  it  might  have  been 
the  Rev.  Rowland  Lascelles,  whom  she  met  last  year 
at  Malvern,  the  most  elegant,  the  most  spiritual- 
minded  of  men.  But  no,  with  a  conscious  little  sigh 
over  her  Malvern  reminiscences,  the  moustache  settles 
it.  Colonel  Drewe  it  must  be  and  no  other.  "  And 
what  makes  it  the  more  remarkable,  Roger,"  adds 
Rose  with  her  most  sapient  and  logical  air,  "  I  de- 
clare it  looks  like  the  finger  of  fate — I  dreamed  of 
poor  Major  O'Shea  only  last  night !  It  seemed  some 


A  VAGABOND  HEROINE.  169 

« 

one  in  America  had  told  him  of  my  engagement — in 
dreams,  alas,  in  dreams  only,  our  dead  are  restored 
to  us  ! — and  he  had  brought  me  over  the  most  lovely 
turquoise  and  pearl  set  as  a  wedding  present  (Major 
O'Shea  always  used  to  say  how  pearls  became  me), 
and  was  exceedingly  pleased  at  the  marriage,  and 
said  he  wished  you  joy  from  his  heart.  Was  it  not 
most  remarkable  ? " 

"  Most  remarkable  and  most  unpleasant,''  answers 
Roger,  getting  annoyed  in  earnest.  "  For  God's 
sake,  Rose,  dream  no  more  dreams  !  Rivals  of  flesh 
and  blood,  powerful  colonels  and  elegant  parsons,  I 
can  stand,  not  the  others — '' 

But  happily,  at  this  very  delicate  juncture,  the 
door  opens,  and  the  entrance  of  Belinda  and  Miss 
Burke  puts  an  end  to  the  love  scene. 

8 


CHAPTEK  X. 


"  LAGRIMAS  !  " 

ISS  Lydia  Burke  is  by  no  means  an  unfavor- 
able sample  outwardly  of  the  "Woman  of  the 
Future.  She  has  a  tolerable  sandy  complex- 
ion, tolerable  sandy  hair,  teeth  almost  over- 
white  and  even,  and  a  pair  of  very  wide-awake,  and 
small  grey  eyes.  Her  walk  is  wiry  ;  her  figure  like 
a  bit  of  watch-spring  ;  her  age — the  hitherward  side 
of  forty.  What  in  this  bright,  energetic-looking 
lady  should  have  introduced  the  sad  elements  of 
hatred  and  disbelief  into  Belinda's  young  life  ?  What 
has  caused  the  inalienable  discrepancies  between 
them? 

Mainly,  I  imagine,  this  unchangeable  law ;  that 
reality  and  shams  will  no  more  mix  together  than 
will  oil  and  water.  Born  of  no  superjionest  stock, 
reared  in  no  superhoriest  school,  one  virtue  from  her 
earliest  babyhood  took  sturdy  root  in  Belinda's  soul : 
the  virtue  of  absolute  truth.  Organizations  exist  so 
finely  tempered  that  their  possessors  can  detect  the 
presence  of  certain  flowers  or  animals  as  if  by  instinct. 


A  VAGABOND  HEROINE. 

Belinda  is  gifted  with  the  same  prescience,  the  same 
kind  of  moral  divining-rod  as  regards  imposture. 
And  poor  Miss  Burke,  while  she  forever  preaches 
Earnestness,  Woman's  Work,  Woman's  Mission 
(with  big  capitals),  is  an  arch  impostor — false,  sham, 
to  her  finger-tips  !  Not  an  uninteresting  type  to  the 
philosophic  student  of  character ;  but  to  an  ignorant, 
ardent  mind  like  Belinda's,  about  as  nauseating  a 
specimen  of  human  nature  as  our  race  can  produce. 

Ten,  fifteen  years  ago,  say  the  traditions  of  East- 
ern travellers,  Miss  Lydia  Burke  used  to  haunt  the 
hotels  of  Egypt  and  Palestine.  She  was  a  prettyish 
woman  then  ;  prettyish,  unprotected,  and,  though 
not  a  girl,  young  enough  to  be  regarded  with  suspi- 
cion by  ladies  travelling  under  the  legitimate  wing 
of  husbands  or  brothers.  Perhaps  there  were  no 
really  queer  stories  about  her — I  mean,  perhaps  none 
of  the  queer  stories  about  her  had  real  foundation. 
That  she  was  in  the  habit  of  borrowing  money  from 
any  man  who  would  lend  her  money  is  matter  of 
fact.  But  in  those  days,  it  must  be  remembered, 
Miss  Lydia  Burke  had  projects  of  founding  ragged 
Jew  schools  in  the  Levant.  Who  shall  say  that  the 
loans  did  not  go  to  ragged  Jew  schools  in  the  Levant  ? 
Later  on,  she  frequented  the  Alps  ;  unprotected  still ; 
still  short  of  money ;  an  indomitable  climber ; 
Bloomerish  in  dress ;  rather  less  shunned  by  ladies 
than  formerly — alas,  her  prettiness  was  fading  !  fear- 
ed exceedingly  by  bachelor  parties  of  young  men,  on 
whom,  under  various  pretexts,  she  was  wont  to  fasten 
with  a  cruel  and  leechlike  tenacity.  After  this — 


172  A  VAGABOND  HEROINE. 

well,  after  this,  Miss  Burke  wrote  a  book,  "  My  Ex- 
periences." Then,  a  little  more  Bloomerish,  a  little 
more  faded,  financial  resources  at  a  lower  ebb  than 
ever,  turned  up  in  London. 

The  book,  a  hash  of  doubtful  Oriental  narrative 
and  still  more  doubtful  Exeter  Hall  piety,  was  simply 
below  criticism  ;  but,  by  one  of  those  outside  chances 
occasionally  to  be  met  with  in  the  world  of  writers 
as  of  men,  it  sold.  It  sold  ;  and  Miss  Burke  straight- 
way manufactured  a  three-volume  novel — carefully 
flavored  with  the  same  kind  of  spice  as  before,  but 
with  the  piety  omitted — which  did  not  sell.  And 
then  she  became  earnest  for  life !  Shortened  her 
skirts,  had  her  jackets  cut  after  the  fashion  of  men's 
coats,  wriggled  her  way  ere  long  upon  platforms,  1 
think  made  a  speech  or  two  about  female  suffrage, 
and  began  in  common  conversation  to  speak  of 
women  as  Woman.  And  it  was  just  when  she  had 
reached  this  melancholy  turning  point  in  the  down- 
ward road  that  the  advertisement  in  the  "  Times" 
brought  Belinda  O'Shea  into  her  hands. 

Finding  herself  a  good  deal  snubbed  by  the  lead- 
ing members  of  the  strong  sisterhood  in  London — 
neophytes  without  cash  are  apt  in  more  sets  than  one 
to  be  lightly  looked  upon  by  the  elders — poor  Burke 
had  to  consider  how  Earnestness  could  be  made  to 
pay,  and  in  a  happy  moment  of  inspiration  composed 
the  advertisement  that  sealed  Belinda's  fate.  And 
then  commenced  the  adventuress  life  again  on  the 
Continent — the  adventuress  life,  but  with  a  differ- 
ence 1 


A  VAGABOND  HEROINE.  173 

Earnest  English  people,  pious  English  people,  all 
English  people,  as  far  as  the  writer  has  personally 
known  or  heard  of,  like  to  be  connected  with  any- 
thing that  is  connected  with  an  earl.  Miss  Burke 
liked  exceedingly  to  be  connected  with  the  Earl  of 
Liskeard's  granddaughter,  although,  as  from  the  first 
moment  Belinda's  eyes  looked  her  hollow  soul 
through,  she  disliked  the  society  of  the  child  herself. 

"  The  Honorable  Belinda  O'Shea  and  Miss 
Burke."  So,  during  the  early  days  of  their  wander- 
ings, she  invariably  caused  their  names  to  be  written 
in  hotel  books  or  on  continental  church  lists,  despite 
all  Belinda's  angry  protests  against  the  imposture. 
If  they  travelled  in  the  same  railway  carriage  with 
an  Englishman,  if  they  sat  opposite  an  Englishman 
at  breakfast  or  dinner,  Miss  Burke  always  contrived 
to  trade  upon  him  with  her  small  companion's  birth 
and  parentage  ;  and,  with  singularly  few  exceptions, 
found  the  venture  answer.  Belinda  remembers  still 
— bitterly,  chokingly  remembers  dinners  and  drives 
and  theatre  tickets  presented  to  them  at  that  period 
by  chance  tdble-d'hote  acquaintance,  and  of  which 
she  now  knows  her  poor  little  forlorn  aristocratic 
society  must  have  been  the  price.  Facts  proving 
two  things,  reader  ;  first,  that  Miss  Burke  had  inborn 
aptitude  for  the  money-raising  or  adventuress  craft ; 
secondly,  that  there  are  men  in  the  world  who  will 
pay  to  shake  hands  with  an  earl's  granddaughter,  just 
as  others  will  pay  to  see  General  Torn  Thumb  or  the 
two-headed  nightingale. 

As  time  went  on,  Belinda,  it  need  hardly  be  said, 


174  A  VAGABOND  HEROINE. 

turned  rebellious  on  tins  as  on  most  other  points. 
"  I  am  not  an  Honorable,  and  I  will  not  have  you 
write  me  down  as  one,  madam.  The  earl,  my  grand- 
papa, has  never  seen  me,  does  not  mean  to  see  me, 
does  not  acknowledge  my  existence.  If  you  bring 
in  his  name  before  any  of  these  commis  voyageura 
again,  I  will  tell  them  the  truth." 

And  Miss  Burke  knew  the  sturdy,  nothing-fearing 
nature  of  her  charge  too  well  to  risk  the  experiment. 

Thejr  never  came  to  open  or  violent  rupture. 
Belinda's  money  stood  between  Miss  Burke  and 
want;  Miss  Burke  stood  between  Belinda  and  her 
stepmother.  They  detested  each  other,  were  neces- 
sary to  each  other,  kept  together.  Is  not  a  good  half 
of  the  world  forever  performing  that  same  duo,  in 
this  queer  comedy  of  errors,  this  jumble  of  mistaken, 
enforced  companionships,  that  we  call  society ! 

Poor  little  Belinda  is  so  curiously  frivolous,  so 
thoroughly,  constitutionally  devoid  of  all  seriousness 
of  purpose,  Miss  Burke  explains,  whenever  the  sub- 
ject seems  to  require  self-extenuation.  "But,  her 
health  being  delicate — her  papa  and  mamma  both  in 
an  early  grave  ! — I  try  to  reconcile  the  out-of-door 
life  she  leads  to  my  conscience." 

"  Burke  is  the  out-and-outest  impostor  that  ever 
walked,"  Belinda  will  say  to  her  gamin  friends.  "  I 
saw  Tartufe  at  the  play  once,  and  by  heaven  he  was 
nothing  to  her !  "What  is  she  an  impostor  for  ?  If  I 
knew  that  I  might  detest  her  less.  I  believe  the 
creature  is  false  to  her  own  conscience.  I  believe  she 
dreams  lies." 


A  VAGABOND  HEROINE.  175 

So  tilings  have  gone  on  until  they  are  as  we  see 
them  now.  Miss  Burke  collecting  ideas  for  her  new 
great  work  on  social  reform,  "  The  Woman  of  the 
Future; ''  Belinda  running  wild,  neglected,  as  nearly 
on  the  road  to  ruin  as  was  ever  innocent,  honest  lit- 
tle human  soul,  about  the  streets  of  St.  Jean  de  Luz. 
The  practical  at  war  with  the  ideal,  as  we  so  often 
lind  to  be  the  case  in  this  imperfect  world. 

Nothing  can  be  blander  than  the  meeting  between 
Belinda's  stepmamma  and  her  preceptress.  Miss 
Burke  has  held  religiously  to  the  letter  of  the  bar- 
gain sealed  between  them  in  London,  has  kept  the 
girl  conveniently  out  of  Rosie's  way  during  the  past 
three  years.  Rosie  has  held  to  hers ;  each  quarterly 
payment  for  maternal  watchfulness  and  superior  in- 
tellectual culture  has  been  paid  in  advance  without  a 
question.  They  begin  to  talk  platitudes.  Rose  thinks 
dear  Belinda  grown,  though  a  little  sunburnt ;  Miss 
Burke  trusts  dear  Mrs.  O'Shea  has  overcome  the 
fatigues  of  travelling?  A  very  wearying  journey 
from  London  to  St.  Jean  de  Luz. 

"  Yes,  indeed,  especially  when  one  is  travelling 
alone  with  one's  maid,"  cries  Rose,  sensitive  even  as 
to  the  smaller  proprieties,  and  virtuously  conscious 
that  she  only  "  met  "  Roger  Temple  in  Paris,  Bor- 
deaux, and  elsewhere.  "  One  does  feel  so  miserably 
helpless  without  a  gentleman !  " 

"  Well  for  my  part,  I  see  no  use  in  them  what- 
ever," says  Miss  Burke.  "  When  you  are  alone  you 
have  nothing  but  your  luggage  to  look  after.  When 
you  are  burdened  with  a  man,''  this  with  a  deprecia- 


176  A  VAGABOND  HEROINE. 

tory  glance  in  the  direction  of  Roger,  "  you  have  to 
look  after  him  and  your  things  too." 

"  My  things !  "  exclaims  Belinda  in  her  mocking 
voice.  "  Well,  Miss  Burke,  in  the  present  state  of 
affairs,  my  '  things  '  would  not  require  much  looking 
after,  with  a  man  or  without  one.  Do  you  know, 
ma'am,"  seriously,  "  the  washer-woman  says  there  is 
really  nothing  more  of  mine  for  her  to  bring  back. 
The  last  remaining  tatters  I  had  have  vanished — car- 
ried away  by  the  birds,  I  suppose,  to  build  their 
nests/' 

She  perches  herself  on  her  accustomed  favorite 
place,  the  corner  of  the  table,  and  looks  round  cheer- 
fully on  the  company  as  she  volunteers  this  informa- 
tion. 

A  cold  glitter  comes  into  Burke' s  eyes.  "You 
are  almost  of  an  age,  I  must  say,  Miss  O'Shea,  to 
begin  to  care  for  order.  ~No  achievement  in  life  can 
ever  be  made  without  order.  When  I  was  seventeen 
I  had  no  greater  delight  than  in  the  neat  arrange- 
ment of  my  wardrobe." 

"  But  I  have  no  wardrobe  to  keep  neat,  ma'am. 
Wardrobe  ?  Why,  this  is  my  only  frock,  and  as  to 
stock — " 

"  Belinda,  my  dear  Belinda,  you  forget !  Anoth- 
er time ! "  interrupts  Hose,  coloring.  "  What  have 
you  been  doing  with  yourself  to-day,  my  love  ?  And 
last  night — did  Mr.  Jones  see  you  safe  home  ?  I  had 
a  note  from  him  this  morning  saying  he  had  gone  off 
to  the  mountains,  and  that  I  must  ask  you  for  partic- 
ulars. Now  what  does  it  all  mean  ? " 


A  VAGABOND  HEROINE.  177 

She  frisks  over,  like  a  little  lambkin,  to  her  step- 
daughters side,  and  putting  her  arm  round  her  waist 
— Belinda  holding  herself  uncompromisingly  stiff  un- 
der the  caress — begius  to  gush  and  titter,  school-girl 
fashion,  in  her  ear.  Miss  Burke  and  Roger  are  thus 
left  to  make  conversation  for  each  other. 

"  A  very  interesting  country  this,  sir,''  observes 
the  lady  looking  sourly,  at  Roger's  handsome  face — 
oh,  Miss  Burke,  you  who  fifteen  years  ago,  could 
look  at  no  man  without  a  melting  smile  !  But  such 
are  the  results  of  earnestness.  "  Interesting,  I  mean 
to  those  who  visit  with  a  purpose." 

"  Yes,  I  am  told  you  get  very  fair  snipe-shooting 
here  in  winter,"  answers  Roger,  who  does  not  under- 
stand the  argot  of  Miss  Burke's  sect. 

u  I  speak  of  the  inhabitants  ;  sunk  now  in  super- 
stition, but  the  remnants  of  a  noble  race.  You  are, 
perhaps,  not  aware  that  the  Basque  has  outlived  five 
distinct  peoples — the  Carthaginians,  Celts,  Romans, 
Goths,  and  Saracens '( " 

"Murray,"  says  Belinda,  in  a  stage  whisper. 
"  '  Introductory  Remarks  on  the  Pyrenees,'  page  two 
hundred  and  forty-nine." 

Roger  strokes  his  moustache  and  tries  to  look 
edified.  "  The  Basque  must  certainly  be  very  old," 
he  begins,  foolishly. 

"  But  the  work  that  I  am  engaged  on  at  present, 
the  work  that  indeed  fills  every  moment  of  my  time, 
is  the  search  of  illustration.  You  have,  perhaps, 
heard  through  Miss  O'Sliea  that  I  am  writing  a 
book  ?  No ;  I  might  have  guessed  as  much.  Miss 
'  8* 


178  A  VAGABOND  HEROINE. 

O'Shea's  interests  do  not  lie  in  the  direction  of  my 
own.  A  book  entitled  '  The  Woman  of  the  Future.' 
I  am  a  laborer,  sir,  though  a  humble  one,  in  the 
greatest  reformation  of  our  day,  the  work  of  restor- 
ing woman  to  the  pedestal  from  whence  the  blinded 
prejudices  of  centuries  have  dethroned  her." 

"Ah,  yes,"  says  Roger,  in  no  very  enthusiastic 
tone,  and  glancing  as  he  speaks  at  the  patches  where 
darns  ought  to  be  in  Belinda's  stockings.  "  For  my 
part,"  he  adds,  gallantly,  "  I  cannot  see  that  any 
reformation  is  needed.  It  seems  to  me  that  women 
are  exceedingly  charming  as  they  are." 

"  As  the  Turk,  as  the  debased  Asiatic  thinks  of 
his  slaves !  "  cries  Miss  Burke,  hotly.  "  Do  you,  an 
Englishman,  actually  advance  the  proposition  that  to 
be  charming  is  a  fit  motive  for  an  immortal  being's 
existence  ? " 

"  The  most  charming  women  appear  to  me  to  be 
so  without  any  motive  at  all,"  says  Roger,  mentally 
measuring  the  distance  between  his  adversary  and 
the  door.  "  But  I  am  really  the  worst  fellow  living 
at  an  argument." 

"  Oh,  that  is  a  very  easy  way  of  escape.  It  is 
perfectly  evident  to  what  cynical  school  you  belong 
— the  surface  light  in  which  you  regard  our  sex  ! 
Can  you  solemnly  affirm,  sir,  I  ask  it  with  the  ear- 
nestness the  subject  requires,  that  you  do  not  look 
upon  us  as  toys  ? '' 

Thus  put,  as  it  were,  upon  oath,  Roger  Temple 
considers  Miss  Burke's  personal  attractions  more 
closely  than  he  has  yet  done,  the  thin,  cold  features, 


A  VAGABOND  HEROINE.  179 

the  glistening  eyes,  the  watch-spring  figure.  He 
feels  that  he  does  not,  that  in  his  wildest  moments 
he  never  could  look  upon  her  in  the  obnoxious  light 
she  deprecates,  and  with  a  perfectly  clear  conscience 
answers,  "No." 

"  Then  may  I  ask  what  do  you  look  upon  us  as  ? " 
says  Burke,  pitilessly. 

Roger  not  only  measures  the  distance  between 
himself  and  the  door ;  he  rises  to  his  feet.  He  has 
been  held  a  brave  soldier  in  action,  a  hardy  sports- 
man in  the  field ;  but  he  is  horribly  afraid  of  Miss 
Lydia  Burke.  "  I — I  really  beg  pardon — but  I  have 
usually  looked  upon  women  as  women,"  he  answers, 
humbly. 

Miss  Burke  turns  her  head  away  in  contempt. 

"It  really  is  most  wonderful,''  sighs  Rose,  who 
has  caught  the  last  word  or  two  of  the  discussion, 
"  most  extraordinary  how  gentlemen  do  dislike  intel- 
lect in  us  !  I  am  sure,  for  myself,  I  envy  superior 
women,  and  I  have  always  wished  and  wished  to  be 
blue ;  haven't  you,  Belinda  ? " 

"  Oh,  I  like  my  natural  hue  well  enough,  Rosie," 
answers  the  girl,  pertly.  "  Still,  if  I  were  forced  to 
change,  I  believe  I  would  as  soon  be  blue  as  some 
other  colors.  Superior  women  do  not  usually  wear 
rouge  or  pearl  powder,  do  they  ? "  She  looks  more 
thoroughly  hard,  more  deliberately,  elfishly  wicked 
than  ever  as  she  implants  this  savage  stab.  Alas, 
where  are  all  the  budding  graces,  where  is  the  soft, 
shy,  dawning  womanliness  of  the  "  Lagrimas  "  of  last 
night  ? 


180  A  VAGABOND  HEROINE. 

"  But  must  your  choice,  of  necessity,  lie  between 
the  two,  my  dear  Belinda?"  Roger  asks,  in  that 
quiet  tone  of  his,  which  at  once  softens  and  exasper- 
ates her.  "  Are  blue  and  rouge  the  only  two  colors 
in  the  world  ? " 

"  Certainly  they  are  not,  Captain  Temple.  There 
is  sun-tan,  for  instance,  Van  Dyck  brown ;  the  fine 
natural  color  of  gamins,  beggars,  gypsies,  and  all  the 
great  unwashed  of  nature.  My  color." 

"Un washed!  You  quite  pain  me  with  these 
expressions,  Belinda,"  says  Rose.  "But  you  must 
try  not  to  despair  about  your  complexion,  dear. 
Spencer  shall  make  you  some  of  her  milk  of  roses. 
She  got  the  receipt  from  Lady  Harriet,  and  they  say 
the  eifect  is  extraordinary ;  that  sun-tan,  and  even 
freckles,  can  be  cured  by  it.  For  my  part,"  encour- 
agingly, "  I  have  no  great  faith  in  cosmetics.  You 
are  fair  or  }TOU  are  swarthy  by  constitution." 

Her  last  fatal  fancy  about  Colonel  Drewe  has 
melted  poor  Rosie  into  amiability  towards  the  whole 
world,  Belinda  even  included.  So  amiable,  so  elated 
is  her  frame  of  mind,  that  she  has  been  rash  enough 
to  whisper  her  little  budget  of  hopes  and  fears  and 
projects  into  the  girl's  unsympathetic  ear.  "An 
old — ah,  if  she  must  confess  truly,  a  dear  friend 
coming  after  her  to  St.  Jean  de  Luz.  Could  any- 
thing be  imagined  more  difficult  than  the  part  she 
would  have  to  play  ?  And  Roger  so  jealous  already 
— that  is  his  weak  point,  you  know,  poor  fellow, 
jealousy  !  And  will  Belinda  find  out  where  Spencer 
can  buy  one  of  those  becoming  Spanish  combs  and 


A  VAGABOND  HEROINE. 

a  mantilla?"  For  Rosie's  imagination  always  flies 
to  the  millinery  department — the  stage  properties 
of  any  coming  event — as  the  imagination  of  a  more 
highly  endowed  woman  might  fly  to  what  she  would 
say,  or  feel,  or  dissemble.  If  the  Colonel  make  his 
appearance  of  a  morning,  Rose  has  decided  that  she 
will  receive  him  in  white  cashmere,  ever  so  sparingly 
relieved  by  the  palest  shade  of  lavender  ribbons ;  if 
at  night,  in  a  high  Spanish  comb,  a  lace  veil,  and  jet 
cross.  What  covld  be  more  appropriate  than  a  lace 
veil  and  jet  cross  to  a  lovely  little  widow  who  is 
roaming  about  the  world  breaking  the  heart  of  every 
ill-fated  man  she  comes  across! 

It  is  long  before  the  visit  draws  to  an  end  ;  and 
Captain  Temple,  doubly  guarded  by  Rosie  and  Miss 
Burke,  does  not  exchange  another  syllable  with 
Belinda.  At  last,  in  the  middle  of  one  of  Miss 
Burke's  finest  perorations  on  woman's  destiny,  the 
girl  brusquely  takes  her  departure  from  the  room ; 
and  accompanying  her  to  the  top  of  the  hotel  stairs, 
Roger  gets  a  word  or  two  with  her  alone. 

"You  are  not  going  to  play  paume  to-day?" 
For  she  has  a  racket  ball  and  schistera,  as  usual,  in 
her  hand.  "  Under  this  broiling  sun !  Belinda,  1 
will  not  allow  it." 

"  Will  you  not  indeed,  Captain  Temple  ?  Why 
not,  pray  ? " 

"  I  do  not  choose  you  to  spoil  your  complexion, 
for  one  thing." 

"  My  unwashed  complexion  that  is  to  be  im- 
proved by  Lady  Harriet's  milk  of  roses!  Isn't  it 


182  A  VAGABOND  IIEKOLSE. 

fine  to  hear  Rosie  and  Miss  Burke  talk !  "What  ad- 
vantages I  have  had,  sir,  in  being  guided  by  those 
two  extremes  of  feminine  intelligence." 

"Promise  me  you  will  not  play  paume,  Belinda, 
to-day,  or  any  other  day." 

She  hesitates  and  looks  down ;  a  quiver  on  her 
lips,  a  tell-tale  blush  shining  beneath  the  clear  olive 
of  her  cheek. 

"  Lagrimas !  "  he  whispers  softly.  "  Will  you 
promise  ?  " 

And  then  she  raises  her  eyes.  They  promise — 
unconsciously  they  promise  a  world  too  much  to 
Roger  Temple. 


CHAPTER  XI. 


A   TRANSFORMATION   SCENE. 

j^^YE  you  watched  an  almond  tree  flower? 
I  Bare  shivering  boughs,  to-morrow,  under  the 
Cj  first  warm  kiss  of  April,  a  cloud  of  odorous 

^j°  blossom.  Such  change,  such  sudden  miracle 
of  growth  is  wrought  during  the  next  four  days  in 
Belinda.  Her  cheek  gains  color,  her  figure  round- 
ness ;  her  hair,  no  longer  disfigured  by  the  villainous 
plaits,  hangs  round  her  neck  in  waves  of  glossy 
chestnut.  Her  movements  lose  their  masculine  rough- 
ness, her  dress  grows  neat.  Girlish  grace,  girlish 
softness,  modesty — all  have  come  to  her.  Who  shall 
unriddle  these  things? 

"  Belinda  is  not  going  to  be  so  unfortunately 
plain,  I  do  believe,"  Rose  will  remark  complacently 
to  her  lover.  "  She  has  quite  made  up  her  mind  to 
marry  Mr.  Jones — quite;  and  you  see  how  she 
brightens  up  at  the  prospect  of  riches.  I  am  afraid  I 
was  right  about  that  poor  thing  from  the  first,  Roger. 
Belinda  has  no  heart." 

Miss  Burke  accounts  for  the  transformation  other- 


184:  A  VAGABOND  HEROINE. 

wise.  "  A  nature  like  Belinda's,"  says  Miss  Burke, 
"  can  only  develop  from  one  frivolity  to  another. 
Her  childish  love  of  play  outgrown,  and  Belinda 
takes  to — what  ?  Earnest  work,  higher  culture, 
recognition  of  the  world's  wants  and  miseries  ?  No ! 
To  muslins,  ribbons,  and  laces ;  the  livery,  the  badge 
of  woman's  degradation  in  the  social  scale." 

So  think  these  ladies.  What  does  Roger  Temple 
think  ? 

Roger  Temple  is  in  the  frame  of  mind,  reader, 
when  we  all  of  us  are  apt  to  shun  self-communion, 
to  keep  the  eyes  of  the  spirit  shut.  By  nature  the 
most  chivalrously  loyal  of  men,  Roger  is  drifting, 
daily,  hourly  drifting  into  disloyalty.  He  is  more 
attentive,  more  devoted  than  ever  to  Rosie  during 
the  hours  that  he  is  at  her  feet — poor,  unconscious 
Rosie,  perpetually  devising  toilets  for  Colonel  Drewe, 
who  as  yet  comes  not !  But  there  are  a  good  many 
hours  of  the  day  when  he  is  not  at  Rosie's  feet. 
The  adorers  of  mature  beauty  are  generally  debarred 
from  adoration  during  the  forenoon,  that  sacred, 
mysterious  time  for  women  to  whom  heaven  hath 
given  one  face  and  who  manufacture  to  themselves 
another.  Till  eleven  o'clock  every  morning  Roger 
is  free,  and  Belinda  also.  After  the  Casino  ball  at 
night  he  is  free  again  ;  and  then,  in  the  starlight, 
"  Lagrimas"  steals  out  upon  the  balcony  (so  fatally 
near  his  own)  of  the  Maison  Lohobiague  ! 

Miss  Burke,  absorbed  in  the  "  Woman  of  the 
Future,"  sees  nothing.  Rosie  enwrapped  in  laven- 
der ribbons,  Spanish  combs,  and  agitated  suspense 


A  VAGABOND  HEROINE.  185 

about  that  elegant  creature  Stanley,  suspects  nothing. 
And  then,  under  the  southern  sky,  in  this  do-noth- 
ing life,  the  path,  no  difficult  one  in  any  climate,  that 
leads  from  flirtation  to  friendship,  from  friendship  to 
a  warm  feeling,  is  so  easy.  Conscience  ?  Why,  'tis 
too  hot  in  St.  Jean  de  Luz  for  such  compunctious 
visitings  of  nature  !  The  mere  act  of  existing  is  a 
Lethe ;  a  dream  of  sapphire  skies  and  sapphire  sea, 
of  romance,  music,  passion-flowers  on  a  balcony,  and 
one  exquisite  girl's  face  shining  from  amidst  them. 
Alas,  the  pity  that  to  dreams  so  flattering  sweet 
comes  invariably  awakening  so  substantial  1 

Four  glowing  nightless  days  pass  by  like  one: 
Miss  Burke  engaged  philosophically,  Rose  making  fu- 
tile millinery  preparations  for  Colonel  Drewe,  Roger 
Temple  and  Belinda  falling  about  as  desperately  in 
love  -with  each  other  as  e73r  two  people  fell  on  this 
contradictory  earth.  For  the  fifth  day  Rose  has 
planned  an  eight  hours'  excursion  into  Spain  ;  Hen- 
daye,  Fontarabia,  home  through  the  mountain  pass 
of  Behobia  by  moonlight.  Mr.  Jones  is  to  return 
early  in  the  morning  from  his  tour,  and  as  a  matter 
of  course  will  accompany  them.  "  Two  pairs  of 
lovers — I  never  heard  of  anything  so  ridiculous," 
says  Rosie.  With  Miss  Burke,  note-book  in  hand, 
as  duenna  or  fifth  wheel  of  the  coach. 

Such  is  the  day's  plan:  a  plan,  like  the  great 
Frederic's,  "  fort  beau  sur  le  papier,"  but  destined  to 
vary  considerably  from  the  original  rough  draft,  as 
the  fairest  mortal  projects  do  when  reduced  to  the 
harth  reality  of  practice. 


186  A  VAGABOND  HEROINE. 

And  in  the  first  place  as  regards  Mr.  Jones. 
Augustus  arrives  punctually  by  the  early  morning 
train  from  Bayonne,  and  with  lover-like  ardor  makes 
his  way  at  once  under  the  broiling  sun  to  the  Maison 
Lohobiague,  where  Belinda,  already  equipped  for  the 
day's  excursion,  meets  him  just  outside  the  house. 
Forgotten  Jones  during  his  absence,  she  has  not ; 
nor  her  own  quasi  encouragement  of  his  suit,  having 
indeed  been  pointedly  reminded  of  both  about  six 
times  during  each  twenty-four  hours  by  Rose.  But 
just  at  this  present  moment,  dressed,  poor  little  girl, 
in  a  summer  frock  and  hat  that  Spencer  has  conde- 
scendingly made  up  for  her,  a  flower  in  her  waist-belt, 
the  sunshine  that  human  lives  know  once  in  its 
extremest  brightness  shining  from  every  feature  of 
her  face — at  this  particular  moment,  I  say,  the  sudden 
apparition  of  Augustus,  more  blistered  than  ever 
after  his  journey,  more  mosquito-bitten,  more  ama- 
tive, comes  upon  Belinda  with  all  the  cold  chill  of  an 
unexpected  misfortune.  She  changes  color  pain- 
fully, does  not  offer  to  take  his  outstretched  hand, 
and  can  find  no  utterance  of  welcome  more  flattering, 
more  lover-like,  than  the  monosyllable,  "  You." 

"  Me,"  says  Mr.  Jones,  ungrammatically  tender. 
"  I  have  not  kept  you  waiting,  I  hope  I  You  have 
not  been  expecting  me  long  ? "' 

"  Expecting?  Well,  certainly  not.  I  don't  know 
that  I  expected  you  at  all,"  answered  Belinda  dryly. 
"  Ycu  have  seen  Rose  ?  " 

No,  Augustus  has  not  yet  had  that  pleasure.  He 
found  a  note  from  Mrs.  O'Shea  on  his  table,  invit- 


A  VAGABOND  HEROINE.  187 

ing  him  to  accompany  them  for  the  day  into  Spain 
and  then — "  Then,  of  course,  I  rushed  off  at  once  to 
see  you,  Belinda,"  he  adds  in  tenderer  accents  than 
before.  "  Has  time  hung  heavy  on  your  hands  ?  " 
Mr.  Jones  has  an  unhappy  knack  of  composing  sen- 
tences brimful  of  murdered  aspirates  !  "  Has  your 
heart  told  you  that — that  some  one  you  cared  for  a 
little  was  away  during  the  last  four  days  ? '' 

"  My  time  has  not  hung  in  the  least  heavily  on 
my  hands,"  answered  Belinda  coldly,  emphasizing 
every  "  h."  "  But  I  have  been  aware  of  your  absence, 
if  you  mean  that." 

"  And  what  have  you  been  doing  with  yourself  ? 
No  paume-playing,  I  hope  ?  " 

"  I  have  given  up  paume-playing  forever,"  she 
exclaims,  her  cheeks  glowing,  a  sudden  shame  com- 
ing into  her  eyes  as  she  makes  the  confession. 

"  My  dear  Belinda,  this  delightful  compliance 
with  my  wishes,"  begins  Augustus. 

"  Your  wishes !  ''  she  interrupts  him  quickly. 
"  What  do  you  mean  by  that,  sir  ?  What  do  you 
suppose  your  wishes  have  had  to  do  in  the  matter  ? " 

"  A  good  deal,  I  should  hope,  considering  how 
we  stand  to  each  other  as — as  engaged  people,  and 
that,"  says  young  Croesus,  purpling. 

Belinda  turns  from  him  impetuously  ;  she  trifles 
with  the  flower  in  her  belt,  she  stoops  and  pats  Costa, 
who  with  an  air  of  dignified  triumph  sits  in  the 
sunshine  eyeing  the  discomfiture  of  his  enemy 
askance. 

"  I  did  not  think  you  would  begin  any  of  that 


188  A  VAGABOND  HEROINE. 

ridiculous  nonsense  again,  Mr.  Jones,"  she  remarks, 
after  a  minute's  silence.  "  Engaged,  what  for,  pray  ? 
Maccaroons  at  Harranbour 's  f  We  shall  have  time 
enough  to  get  some,  I  dare  say,  before  we  start  for 
Spain." 

"Without  answering  a  word,  Jones  shifts  his  posi- 
tion from  one  leg  to  the  other,  then  stands  critically 
gazing  into  the  transparent,  girlish  face  before  him. 
Wounded  vanity  has  intuitions  keen  as  those  of  love 
itself;  nay,  in  nine  times  out  of  ten,  I  would  say, 
has  intuitions  that  come  a  thousandfold  straighter 
and  swifter  to  the  mark !  Wounded  vanity  is  flood- 
ing Mr.  Jones's  intelligence  with  a  curious  amount 
of  light  at  this  moment. 

"  I  don't  know  how  it  is,  but  it  seems  to  me  that 
you  have  altered  a  good  deal  since  I  went  away, 
Miss  Belinda.  Upon  my  word,  you  look  three,  four 
any  number  of  years  older." 

"  That  is  not  a  complimentary  speech  to  make  to 
a  young  lady,  is  it?  "  cries  Belinda,  but  in  a  flutter- 
ing, ill-assured  voice,  with  the  traitor  blood  still 
deepening  on  her  cheeks. 

"  And  your  dress — all  those  refined  female  ele- 
gances with  which  I  have  so  often  wished  to  see  you 
invested,"  says  Augustus  pompously.  "  But  I  sup- 
pose, as  you  expected  me  to-day,  I  may  without 
vanity  attribute  a  little  of  that  to — '' 

"  Pray  don't  hesitate." 

"  To  the  very  laudable  desire  of  giving  me  pleas- 
ure, my  dearest  Belinda." 

Upon  this  she  lifts  her  eyes,  and  returns  his  gaze 


A  VAGABOND  HEROINE.  189 

unflinchingly.  "I  have  taken  to  'refined  elegances,' 
as  I  have  given  up  paume-playing,  to  suit  my  own 
taste.  I  never  thought  for  one  moment  of  giving 
you  or  any  one  else  pleasure,  never." 

The  natural  expression,  by  no  means  an  angelic 
one,  of  Mr.  Jones's  face,  replaces  in  a  second  all  the 
oily  tenderness  which,  as  a  suitor,  he  had  thought  it 
wise  of  late  to  dissemble.  Truth,  he  feels,  is  going 
to  be  told  between  him  and  this  keen-tongued  little 
vixen  at  last,  and  he  is  quite  determined  to  render 
truth  as  unpalatable  to  her  as  may  be.  "  Well,  Miss 
O'Shea,''  looking  at  his  watch  as  he  speaks,  "you 
are  not  in  a  particularly  complimentary  mood  this 
morning,  it  seems ;  so  the  sooner  we  wish  each  other 
good-bye  the  better.  As  regards  your  party  into 
Spain,  you  will  mention  to  Mrs.  O'Shea,  perhaps, 
that  circumstances  do  not  allow  of  my  accompanving 
you." 

"  I  will  deliver  any  message  you  like  to  send  by 
me,  Mr.  Jones." 

"  I  have  received  a  letter  that  calls  me  back  at 
once  to  London,  and  shall  leave  this  cursed  hole 
with  only  too  much  pleasure,  by  the  twelve  o'clock 
train.  However  I  have  no  doubt  you  will  find  Cap- 
tain Temple  a  very  willing  substitute!  Before  we 
part  there  is  one  question  that  I  should  like,  just  for 
curiosity,  to  ask  you.  What  was  your  object  in  giv- 
ing me  the  answer  you  did  four  evenings  ago,  here 
in  your  own  lodgings? '' 

"  The  answer  I "  she  stammers.     "  I  don't  know 


190  A  VAGABOND  HEROINE. 

what  answer  you  mean.  Oh,  Mr.  Jones,  do  forgive 
me  if  I  have  offended  you  !  " 

"  What  was  your  object,  I  ask?''  he  persists  sav- 
agely. "  Is  it  so  perfectly  impossible  to  you  to  speak 
the  truth  ? " 

"  I  answered  you  more  in  jest  than  earnest.  You 
know  it.  I  said  that  we  might  try  being  engaged. 
We  have  tried  it,  and — the  thing  is  impossible, 
forgive  me,  Mr.  Jones.  I  have  acted  very  foolishly, 
very  badly,  I  know,  but  I  ask  you  to  forgive  me.  I 
am  wiser  now." 

"No  doubt  of  it,"  says  Augustus,  with  one  of 
his  odious  smiles.  It  would  be  impertinent,  I  sup- 
pose, to  inquire  under  whose  influence  your  wisdom 
has  been  gained  ? " 

She  stands  for  several  seconds  dumb,  as  though 
she  had  not  understood  his  question ;  then,  from 
throat  to  temple,  the  poor  little  girl  turns  white. 
Her  secret — a  secret  hitherto  to  her  own  inmost  con- 
science— is  bared  before  her,  like  a  committed  sin, 
in  this  moment's  piercing  light.  She  changes  from 
pale  to  red,  and  then  to  pale  again.  Her  whole 
childish  face  works  piteously.  "I — I  am  wiser 
now,''  is  all  she  can  repeat ;  oh,  with  what  trembling 
lips,  with  \vhat  scorching,  irrepressible  shame ! 

"Wiser  in  one  sense  of  the  word,  no  doubt,  you 
are,"  says  Augustus,  watching  her  with  contemptu- 
ous coolness.  "  There  may  be  two  opinions,  perhaps, 
as  to  the  worldly  wisdom  of  these  little  changes  of 
fancy.  Is  it  your  stepmamma,  I  wonder,  or  Captain 


A  VAGABOND  HEROINE.  191 

Temple  who  is  acting  as  your  adviser  ?     Not  your 
stepmamma  surely  ? " 

At  the  insolence  of  his  tone,  his  look,  Belinda's 
self-possession  returns  to  her.  "  My  own  heart  is  my 
adviser,  sir,'' she  cries.  "My  own  heart  tells  me  I 
could  never  endure  to  live  a  day  with  you  as  your 
wife,  let  alone  a  lifetime !  " 

"And  have  you  made  up  your  mind — although 
you  do  treat  me  so  cruelly  I  must  always  take  the 
warmest  interest  in  your  welfare — have  you  made  up 
your  mind,  Belinda,  to  live  under  Captain  Temple's 
roof  for  the  future  ?  " 

"  I  shall  do  whatever  he  thinks  best  for  me,  sir." 
The  words  stab  her  ;  but  she  utters  them  with  a  kind 
of  despairing  resolution.  "  It  would  be  impossible 
for  me  to  live  under  the  roof  of  any  one  I  like  and 
honor  more  than  I  do  Roger  Temple." 

"  Oh  !  What  very  delightful  sentiments,  what 
charming  filial  submission  !  And  you  were  so  des- 
perately prejudiced,  if  you  remember.  Only  four 
days  ago  you  were  ready  to  quarrel  with  me  for 
assuming  the  possibility  of  Mrs.  O'Shea's  marriage." 

"  I  did  not  know  Roger  Temple  then,"  says 
Belinda  bravely  and  simply.  "  I  can  excuse  Rose 
now.  I  think  she  or  any  woman  would  be  honored 
by  becoming  Roger  Temple's  wife." 

And  having  got  back  to  the  familiar  region  of 
truth,  the  girl's  stout  spirit  rallies.  No  further  blush 
of  shame  rises  to  her  cheek,  no  further  tremble  of 
the  lip  betrays  her.  Shame  was  for  the  first  dis- 
covery of  her  weakness.  For  her  love  itself,  mis- 


192  A  VAGABOND  HEROINE. 

placed,  hopeless  though  it  may  be,  she  can  feel  none. 
Sure  test,  oh  reader,  by  which  to  discover  when  love 
is  of  true  metal  and  when  counterfeit. 

Mr.  Jones  makes  his  exit,  not  again  to  cross  the 
stage  of  this  little  drama ;  and  Belinda  stands  blankly 
gazing  at  a  world  from  whence  all  fair  perspectives, 
all  gracious  harmonies  of  color,  seem  abruptly  blotted 
out.  The  cheerful  streets — 'tis  a  high  Basque  festi- 
val, and  the  town  is  thronged  with  peasants  from  the 
neighboring  villages — the  balconies  with  their  gayly- 
painted  awnings,  the  flush  of  purple  hills  across  the 
river,  every  familiar  object  upon  which  she  looks 
seems  changed — vivid,  intensified,  as  external  objects 
become  in  moments  of  sharp  bodily  pain,  and  still 
distorted  to  Belinda's  untuned,  jarring  sense.  Her 
life  is  distorted.  The  gamin  life,  with  its  April  joys 
and  tears,  is  over.  Over !  why,  she  feels  old 
already;  those  children  playing  yonder  under  the 
trees  seem  separate  from  her  by  a  score  of  painful 
years !  The  past  has  died  by  sudden  harshest  blow, 
and  she  has  no  future.  That  is  for  Rose;  for  all 
happy  women  whose  love  has  been  sought  for  and 
returned.  And  then — 

Then  across  the  girl's  heart  sweep  thoughts  that 
are  intoxication,  memories  of  words  spoken  by  Roger 
Temple  to  "Lagrimas"  when  there  were  only  the 
night  and  solitude  to  hear — words  carrying  with 
them  the  ring  of  truth,  of  earnestness,  all  unlike  the 
tawdry  compliments  he  lavishes  on  Rose.  Ah,  if  he 
care  for  her  ever  so  slightly,  and  she  may  see  him 


A  VAGABOND  HEROINE. 


193 


sometimes,  feel  the  pressure  of  his  hand,  meet  the 
kindness  of  his  eyes,  can  she  not  be  contented  ? 

Love  in  a  girl  of  seventeen  asks  so  little,  expects 
so  little,  craves  passionately  for — it  knows  not  what, 
yet  can  live  content  npon  a  word,  a  look,  a  hand 
pressure.  Loveliest  of  human  love !  in  an  honest, 
untutored  breast  like  Belinda's.  I  say  nothing  about 
young  ladies  reared  in  a  fashionable  boarding-school, 
nurtured  on  novels,  and  cherishing  mysterious  yearn- 
ings of  the  soul  toward  the  dancing-master. 
9 


CHAPTER 

THE    MEMORY   OF   A   KISS. 

\N  reaching  the  Hotel  Isabella,  Belinda  finds 
her  stepmother  alone,  dressed  in  the  sprightli- 
est,  most  juvenile  white  muslin  wrapper,  and 
wearing  on  the  summit  of  her  blonde  locks 
what  the  Parisian  milliners  neatly  term  "a  ravishing 
futility,"  in  the  way  of  a  cap  or  badge  of  widow- 
hood. 

"  Belinda !  and  no  Mr.  Jones  ?  Well,  it  is  posi- 
tively a  reprieve — I  am  too  upset,  too  miserable  to 
bear  the  presence  of  a  man.  Oh,  my  dear  girl,  think 
what  tortures  of  suspense  I  am  going  through ! 
Colonel  Drewe  has  arrived — is  staying  in  this  very 
hotel." 

There  is  not  one  of  her  little  poses  in  which  Rose 
is  more  successful  than  that  of  bashful  girlish  per- 
turbation. In  her  youthful  white  dress,  and  holding 
a  microscopic  patch  of  cambric  and  Valenciennes  to 
her  lips,  she  really  at  this  moment  does  not  look  a 
day  over  two-and-twenty ;  in  a  half  light,  of  course, 


A  VAGABOND  HEROINE.  195 

and  viewed,  as  every  work  of  genuine  art  deserves  to 
be  viewed,  from  the  proper  focus. 

"  It  appears  he  came  by  a  late  train  yesterday, 
but  I  knew  nothing  about  his  arrival  till  this  morn- 
ing. The  poor  fellow  picked  up  Spencer's  acquaint- 
ance in  the  courtyard,  and  questioned  her,  and  oh, 
Belinda,  I  fear  things  are  worse  than  I  anticipated ! 
Spencer  says  the  fiery  look  that  came  into  his  eyes 
when  she  told  him  Captain  Temple  was  here,  was 
something  fearful.'' 

"  Lucky  that  you  can  keep  out  of  his  way  for  the 
day,  Rose.  There  was  a  beautiful  Spanish  duchess 
in  this  hotel  last  summer,  and  six  duels  were  fought 
about  her  before  the  season  was  over.  We  must 
hope  Colonel  Drewe  will  have  had  time  to  get  his 
fiery  feelings  under  control  by  the  time  you  come 
back  to-night." 

Mrs.  O'Shea  for  a  minute  or  more  examines  the 
pattern  of  her  laced  handkerchief  in  silence.  "  The 
duty  that  lies  before  me  is  a  most  cruel  one,"  she 
sighs  at  last,  looking  up  with  soft,  remorseful  eyes  at 
the  ceiling.  "  I  hope,  in  consenting  to  marry  my 
poor  Roger,  I  have  acted  conscientiously.  I  hope  it, 
and  I  believe  it.  My  rejection  of  him  would  have 
cut  Roger  Temple  adrift  from  his  last  moral 
stay  in  life.  But  I  cannot  forget  that  there  are  other, 
it  may  be  prior  claims.  You  talk  of  duels  jestingly, 
Belinda  ?  You  little  know  how  necessary  it  is  for 
me  to  see  Colonel  Drewe  without  delay,  and  alone. 
For  want  of  women  displaying  discretion,"  says  Rose 


196  A  VAGABOND  HEROINE. 

solemnly,  "  some  men's  lives  have  been  sacrificed  in 
positions  like  this." 

"  But  where  is  he  all  this  time,  Rose — where  is 
this  fiery-eyed  Colonel  Drewe  ?  If  you  mean  to  see 
him  before  we  start,  you  must  make  haste  about  it. 
It  is  time  for  you  to  dress  already." 

"  Ah,  my  dear  child,  there  is  the  difficulty.  Is  it 
my  duty  to  start  at  all  ? "  And  then,  beckoning 
Belinda  to  her  side,  and  speaking  in  whispers,  Rose 
unfolds  a  series  of  little  Machiavellian  plans,  by 
means  of  which  she  hopes  to  mystify  everybody 
throughout  the  remainder  of  the  day.  Roger,  in  the 
first  place,  is  to  be  told  that  she  is  suffering  from 
headache,  and  the  party  must  start  for  Spain  without 
her.  Then  Colonel  Drewe  is  to  be  admitted — not 
at  first  admitted  ;  the  wily  Spencer  must  hold  him 
at  arm's  length  with  accounts  of  her  mistress's  suffer- 
ing condition  until  his  feelings  be  sufficiently  work- 
ed upon.  "  And  then,"  says  Rosie,  "  I  shall  take 
care,  you  may  be  sure,  to  put  everything  before  him 
in  a  light  as  little  wounding  to  his  own  vanity  as 
possible.  My  engagement,  fortunately,  has  never 
been  actually  given  out ;  and  I  know,  when  I  have 
him  alone,  I  can  say  many  things  that  will  soften  the 
blow  to  him.  Poor,  poor  Stanley  !  Ah,  if  I  could 
only  persuade  him  to  return  quietly  to  England  by 
this  evening's  express !  Roger  need  never  know 
more  about  the  visit  than  I  choose  to  let  him  know, 
and—" 

"  And  altogether  you  will  have  told  one,  two, 
three  falsehoods,"  interrupts  Belinda,  checking  off 


A  VAGABOND  HEROINE.  197 

Hose's  "  mystifications  "  on  her  finger  tips.  "  Three 
leading  falsehoods  and  about  a  dozen  small  ones. 
Why  have  a  headache  ?  Why  deceive  either  of  them  ? 
"Why  not  go  on  straight  and  let  everything  take  its 
chance  ? " 

"  When  you  are  a  few  years  older,  child,  when 
you  have  seen  as  much  of  the  jealousies  of  the  human 
heart  as  I  have,  you  will  know  that  'going  on 
straight,'  as  you  call  it,  does  not  answer.  Gentlemen 
like  being  deceived  if  the  deceit  saves  them  from  un- 
dergoing anything  disagreeable,  and  those  women 
who  know  how  to  deceive  gracefully — gracefully, 
mind — are  always  the  most  popular." 

Thus  Rose  according  to  her  lights.  Looking 
round  among  your  acquaintance  in  cynical  moments, 
you  could  almost  say  that  from,  those  supremely  un- 
wise lips  of  hers  has  fallen,  for  once,  a  remark  not 
without  its  little  grain  of  worldly  wisdom. 

At  the  door  of  the  hotel  Belinda  finds  Roger  try 
ing,  with  rather  poor  success,  to  look  sympathetic, 
while  Spencer  holds  forth  to  him  respecting  her  mis- 
tress's headache.  Spencer  is  characteristic — a  blonde, 
faded  young  woman,  largely  restored  by  cheap  art ; 
as  affected  as  many  a  really  fashionable  lady ;  and 
with  finest  natural  ogle  in  the  world.  A  vile  copy 
— and  still  a  copy,  with  what  a  likeness! — of  her 
mistress.  Women  might  look  at  their  ladies'  maids 
as  in  a  mirror  oftener  than  they  think,  if  they  had 
but  common  sense  sufficient. 

She  mano3uvres  her  eyes  under  their  painted  lids 
at  Roger ;  twists  her  lips  out  of  the  form  in  which 


198  A  VAGABOND  HEROINE. 

God  made  them ;  fabricates  falsities  by  the  dozen, 
unnecessary,  gross  falsities,  where  Rose  had  only  stip- 
ulated for  one  innocent  white  lie  or  two.  As  the 
comedy  proceeds,  an  Englishman,  tall,  of  military  cut, 
but  with  the  unmistakable  air  about  him  of  a  man  at 
odds  with  fortune  (Colonel  Drewe  must  surely  have 
fallen  in  the  world  of  late),  peeps  through  the  trellis 
of  vine  and  jessamine  that  overshadows  the  salle-a- 
manger  window  close  at  hand,  and  listens.  He  shifts 
about  a  little ;  he  turns  red ;  gets  one  good  stare  at 
the  handsome,  unconscious  face  of  his  rival,  then 
draws  back — draws  back,  but — alas  for  military  honor 
that  I  must  confess  it — listens  still ! 

"  And  so  Rosie  cannot  go  with  us,"  says  Roger. 

"  Rosie !  He  calls  her  Rosie  ! "  The  unseen 
takes  out  his  pocket  handkerchief  and  wipes  his  fore- 
head. 

"  Belinda,  what  must  we  do  2  Put  off  the  excur- 
sion till  another  day — " 

"  Mrs.  O'Shea  begs  you  would  not  on  no  account 
do  that,  Captain  Temple,"  says  Spencer.  "  It  is  one 
of  her  little  headaches,  you  know,  sir." 

"  Oh,  he  knows,  does  he  ?  "  thinks  the  gentleman 
behind  the  vines  and  jessamine. 

"  I'm  afraid  Miss  O'Shea  and  you  was  out  too 
late  last  night,  Captain  Temple.  Mrs.  O'Shea  com- 
plained of  her  'ead  before  retiring." 

Roger  again  does  his  best  to  look  contrite,  and 
again  fails  signally.  "  If  Rosie  really  wishes  us  to  go, 
Belinda?  Rosie  is  so  unselfish — never  likes  other 
people  to  be  disappointed — perhaps  we  had  better  be 


A  VAGABOND  HEROINE.  199 

guided  by  her.     We  shall  be  a  nice  little  party  of 
three,  you  and  Miss  Burke  and  myself — " 

"  And  Mr.  Jones,"  adds  Belinda.  "What  on  earth 
should  make  Colonel  Drewe  start  so  oddly  at  the 
sound  of  the  girl's  voice  ?  "  Don't  forget  that  Mr. 
Jones  has  come  back  from  the  mountains." 

"  Jones — ah,  to  be  sure,  Jones,"  says  Roger  in  an 
altered  tone.  "  On  second  thoughts  I  don't  know 
that  I  have  courage  enough  for  the  expedition.  If 
Miss  Burke  were  to  get  me  alone  among  the  ruins  and 
begin  to  argue  about  the  suffrage,  I  might  become  a 
convert  to  the  Woman  of  the  Future  before  I  knew 
where  I  was.  It  will  be  safer  for  me  to  remain  be- 
hind." 

Belinda  turns  away  abruptly.  "Amuse  your- 
self well,  Captain  Temple,"  she  cries,  looking  back 
at  him  across  her  shoulder.  "  Mr.  Jones  is  not 
going  to  Spain  at  all ;  in  another  hour  Mr.  Jones 
will  be  on  his  road  to  England;  but  never  mind, 
Burke  and  I  will  have  an  improving  day  by  our- 
selves. Good-bye.  I  have  not  a  moment  to  lose." 

Her  slip  of  a  figure  trips  away  out  of  the  court- 
yard, and  before  she  has  progressed  a  dozen  steps 
Roger  Temple  has  joined  her — is  on  his  way  to 
Spain  ;  his  terror  of  Miss  Burke  and  of  her  doctrines, 
it  would  appear,  suddenly  overcome.  Spencer 
•watches  them  curiously.  Whatever  other  personage 
in  a  love  plot  remains  blind  to  the  truth,  be  sure 
that  the  ladies'  maid  is  never  long:  unenlightened. 

O  C* 

Spencer  watches  them,  drawing  inferences  of  her  own 
as  to  the  future  happiness  of  Captain  Temple  and 


200  A  VAGABOND  HEROINE. 

her  mistress.  The  stranger,  from  behind  his  cover 
of  vines  and  jessamine,  watches  them  also. 

I  have  said  that  to-day  is  a  high  Basque  festival. 
The  country  people  have  assembled,  from  far  and 
near,  in  St.  Jean  de  Luz,  and  it  is  with  difficulty 
that  Belinda  and  Roger  can  wedge  their  way  along 
the  narrow'  streets.  In  an  opening  beside  the  prin- 
cipal thoroughfare  of  the  town,  one  of  the  great 
national  matches  of  paume  is  at  its  height ;  the  per- 
formers are  picked  men,  champions  from  either  side 
the  frontier,  and  excitement  fierce  and  fiery  prevails 
among  the  spectators  at  every  thrilling  incident  in 
the  game.  Fifty  yards  distant  a  peasant  play,  or 
pastoral,  is  being  acted — the  stage,  a  scaffolding  of 
rough  boards,  supported  on  wine  casks — before  one 
of  the  poorer  inns.  At  the  turning  of  the  next 
street  comes  a  procession  of  priests  and  singing  boys, 
bearing  the  sacrament  from  church  to  church. 
Tambour-playing,  dancing,  and  inebriety  are  every- 
where. 

Belinda  feels  in  a  dream,  still  a  dream  that  is  no 
longer  one  of  pain.  Her  child's  life  has  been  spoiled 
for  her,  'tis  true ;  and  all  the  future's  gold  is  for 
Rose,  not  her.  But  she,  not  Rose,  is  with  Roger 
now.  Their  excursion  into  Spain  will  last  some  six 
or  seven  hours — six  or  seven  hours  to  the  good,  out 
of  a  lifetime  separation !  Her  hand  is  upon  Roger's 
arm — he  insists  that  she  needs  his  help  to  get  her 
through  the  crowd — and  his  eyes  are  telling  her  that 
she  is  fair ;  and  her  foolish  heart  beats  with  pleas- 


A  VAGABOND  HEROINE.  201 

ure  ;  and  she  wants  nothing  on  the  whole  wide  earth 
but  what  the  moment  gives  her ! 

Propriety,  in  the  shape  of  Miss  Burke,  overtakes 
them  at  the  railway  station.  They  get  their  tickets 
for  Hendaye,  the  last  town  this  side  the  frontier,  and 
in  another  quarter  of  an  hour  are  walking,  as  well  as 
the  scorching,  breathless  heat  will  allow  them,  along 
the  banks  of  the  Bidassoa.  Here,  advised  of  Mur- 
ray, their  plan  is  to  take  boat  for  Fontarabia — Font- 
arabia,  that  looks  but  a  stone's  throw  distant,  across 
the  quivering  expanse  of  harbor  mud.  But  man  and 
Murray  may  propose,  fate  finishes.  They  get  into 
one  of  the  unwieldy  flat-bottomed  boats  that  ply 
between  France  and  Spain,  are  assured  by  the  scar 
let-skirted  boatman,  in  patois,  only  understood  ot 
Belinda,  that  there  will  be  water  enough  to  carry 
them  to  Fontarabia  this  tide,  and  rather  more  than 
half  way  across  run  aground.  The  boatmen  shove, 
swear,  smile.  When  a  Spaniard  smiles  you  may 
know  that  your  hour  is  come.  "What  is  to  be 
done  ?  Ah,  God  knows.  This,  then,  is  to  be  done, 
as  their  excellencies  insist  upon  an  answer.  Either 
they  will  remain  where  they  are  some  small  three- 
quarters  of  an  hour  and  walk  ashore  on  their  own 
legs,  or  be  carried  thither  in  the  boatmen's  arms, 
now ;  or  they  can  wait,  a  matter  of  several  hours,  for 
the  return  of  the  tide.  Their  excellencies  will  have 
the  condescension  to  decide."  Meanwhile  the  boat- 
men take  out  each  a  little  roll  of  paper,  and  prepare, 
with  the  most  dignified  good  breeding  imaginable, 
to  fold  their  midday  cigarritos. 
9* 


202  A  VAGABOND  HEROINE. 

"  I  vote  for  being  carried  ashore  at  once,"  cries 
Belinda.  "  Propriety,  ma'am !  What  does  that 
matter  ?  I  would  rather  be  improper  than  have  sun- 
stroke any  day." 

"  And  I,"  says  Miss  Burke,  "  would  sooner  perish 
than  be  encircled  by  the  arms  of  those  men,  of  any 
men.  I  will  never  quit  this  boat  living,  save  on  my 
own  feet." 

And  not  by  one  hair's  breadth  can  she  be  made 
to  swerve  from  her  principles.  She  will  wait  till  the 
tide  has  so  far  ebbed  that  she  may  walk  ashore  across 
the  mud ;  will  wait,  if  need  be,  till  nightfall ;  will 
risk  the  danger  of  sunstroke.  To  the  profanation  of 
a  man's,  although  but  a  red-skirted  boatman's  arms, 
the  Woman  of  the  Future  will  never  bring  herself  to 
submit. 

"  Weil,  if  this  indeed  be  the  case,  then,"  says 
Koger  perfidiously,  "  if  we  cannot  induce  you" — in- 
duce her ! — "  to  change  your  mind,  Miss  Burke,  per- 
haps the  best  plan  would  be  for  Belinda  and  me  to 
go  ashore  as  we  can,  look  out  for  a  hotel,  order  dinner, 
and  so  on.  This  will  give  you  more  time  for  seeing 
Fontarabia  afterwards,  and — " 

"  Leave  me,  I  beg,  sir,"  says  Miss  Burke,  putting 
up  her  umbrella  sternly,  "but  without  compliments. 
Miss  O'Shea,  I  must  ask  you  to  dispose  of  your  day 
entirely  without  reference  to  me.  Settle  with  the 
boatmen  ?  No,  I  thank  you.5'  Roger,  enslaved  by 
old-world  superstitions  as  to  woman's  helplessness, 
having  at  this  point  weakly  taken  out  his  purse.  "  / 
will  settle  with  them  when  they  have  fulfilled  their 


A  VAGABOND  HEROINE.  203 

engagement,  when  I  find  myself  safe  on  land,  not 
before." 

So  the  matter  is  settled.  One  of  the  .men  lifts 
Belinda  from  the  boat,  about  as  easily  as  a  child  lifts 
a  kitten,  then  wades,  bearing  her  in  his  arms,  through 
the  shallow  water.  Captain  Temple  is  conveyed  on 
the  stout  shoulders  of  the  other.  A  couple  of  min- 
utes later  they  are  ashore  on  Spanish  soil  and  alone. 

"  And  now,  Senora  Lagrimas,''  says  Roger,  "  what 
just  cause  or  impediment  should  hinder  you  and  me 
from  going  on  to  the  Alhambra  ? " 

The  question  is  a  jest,  of  course.  Unfortunately, 
just  as  Roger  puts  it,  Belinda's  eyes  meet  his  in  one 
long,  wistful,  sorrowful  look — then  droop  abashed. 
And  the  story  is  told. 

As  it  is  told  in  ninety-nine  cases  out  of  a  hundred, 
reader,  the  unbidden  eloquence  of  look,  or  tone,  or 
touch,  making  itself  felt  before  the  lips  have  ven- 
tured on  the  colder  expedient  of  speech.  "Well — the 
intervening  space  of  time  that  follows,  be  it  of 
months  or  minutes,  is,  I  take  it,  about  the  most  am- 
brosial of  all  love's  calendar,  especially  of  love  that 
shall  never  know  its  earthly  end,  to  which  the  pres- 
ent is  all  in  all.  In  well  nigh  every  other  condition 
of  our  lives  we  poor  mortals  look  "  before  and  after.1' 
In  this  evanescent  one  of  hopeless  unspoken  passion 
we  are  content,  fearfully  content !  No  future  for 
us ;  the  whole  of  the  chill  years  to  come  spent  asun- 
der ;  and  we  love  each  other,  we  are  together  now. 
Perhaps  the  forlorn  rapture  of  that  now  equals  any- 
thing that  lawfully  affianced  lovers,  with  half  a  cen- 


204  A  VAGABOND  HEROINE. 

tury  or  so  of  a  joint  fireside  in  prospective,  ever 
taste. 

They  explore  the  sights  of  Fontarabia  as  consci- 
entiously as  though  they  were  some  prosiac  couple 
whose  romance  had  begun  with  money  considera- 
tions, and  was  now  yawning  itself  into  extinction 
throughout  a  wedding  tour.  They  visit  the  ram- 
parts, still  lying  in  blackened  ruins,  as  British  gun- 
powder left  them.  They  look  down  on  the  classic 
Three  Fords,  the  scene  of  that  wild  night-struo^le 

'  O  O™ 

when  the  Duke  won  the  passage  of  the  Bidassoa, 
inch  by  inch,  from  old  Soult.  By  and  by  they 
saunter  up  to  the  Church  through  the  high  street  of 
the  town — quaintest  little  high  street,  surely,  in 
Christendom,  with  its  flower-decked  balconies,  and 
thirteenth  century  porticoes,  and  roofs  overhanging 
so  far  on  either  hand  that  scarce  a  strip  of  the  fervent 
blue  is  visible  overhead.  But  they  forget  two  things : 
to  search  for  a  hotel  or  to  order  dinner.  They  also 
forget  the  existence  of  Miss  Burke. 

The  church  takes  them  more  than  an  hour  to 
walk  round.  Nothing  remarkable  in  the  way  of 
art  has  Fontarabia's  parish  church  to  show ;  the  gild- 
ed saints  and  virgins,  the  windows,  the  relics,  are 
precisely  like  all  others  of  their  kind.  But  these 
two  heretics  visit  every  "  station,"  pause  before  every 
altar,  slowly,  reverently,  as  though  they  were  admir- 
ing the  glories  of  St.  Peter's.  The  mellowed  light, 
the  hush,  the  solitude,  seem  to  shut  them  away,  de- 
liciouslyto  shut  them  away,  from  all  connection  with 
the  glaring  outer  world.  They  linger,  side  by  side, 


A  VAGABOND  HEROINE.  205 

silent,  not  meeting  each  other's  eyes,  heaven  knows 
what  thoughts  filling  the  hearts  of  each.  At  length 
the  organ  begins  to  play  a  dreamy  set  of  waltzes, 
followed  by  an  air  from  one  of  Verdi's  operas.  A 
sleepy-looking  priest  saunters  down  the  aisle,  putting 
on  his  gown  as  he  goes ;  a  sleepy-looking  chorister 
boy  with  incense-burner  and  book  saunters  behind. 
And  then  in  lounges  a  christening  party,  everybody 
gossipping  and  laughing,  with  that  frank  familiarity 
toward  mother  Church  that  characterizes  the  whole 
most  Catholic  nation.  Belinda  and  Roger  make 
their  escape  through  a  side  door,  left  open  by  the 
drowsy-eyed  priest,  and  which  leads  down  five  or  six 
breakneck  stairs,  into  the  sacristy. 

The  sacristy  is  old,  older  by  centuries  than  the 
main  body  of  the  church,  and  is  filled  with  vests, 
stoles,  canopies,  dilapidated  Beatas,  and  other  ecclesi- 
astical property  of  that  nature.  Our  Lady  of  Pain,  in 
mauve  satin,  stands  at  one  end  ;  our  Lady  of  Delight, 
in  amber  silk,  at  the  other.  The  air  is  redolent  of 
stale  incense,  mustiness,  and  garlio — what  place  in 
Spain  is  not  redolent  of  garlic  ?  How  if  they  were 
to  open  a  window,  afford  their  pagan  lungs  a  little 
more  of  heaven's  pure  air  and  a  little  less  of  the 
manufactured  odor  of  sanctity?  They  open  one, 
and  discover  a  balcony,  or  mural  terrace,  about 
twelve  feet  in  length,  exquisitely  cool,  sunless,  and 
siesta-inviting,  and  with  the  whole  panorama  of 
town,  river-mouth,  and  harbor  outstretched  beneath. 

"  Perhaps  from  this  height  we  shall  be  able  to 


206  A  VAGABOND  HEROINE. 

see  Miss  Burke  about  somewhere,"  cries  Belinda, 
tardily  conscience-stricken. 

Remark  the  cruelty  of  fate,  the  pertinacity  of 
that  unspiritual  god,  Circumstance.  In  the  streets, 
upon  the  ramparts,  guarded  at  every  step  they  took 
by  an  attendant  mob  of  beggar  children,  they  were 
safe,  comparatively ;  and  in  the  church,  by  reason  of 
its  being  a  church,  they  were  safe,  comparatively. 
And  then  the  christening  drives  them  into  the 
sacristy,  and  garlic  and  stale  incense  drive  them  out 
upon  this  balcony,  where  they  are  as  much  alone  as 
they  were  on  that  first  evening  when  "  Lagrimas " 
sang  her  student  song  under  the  stars  ;  and  then,  and 
then — 

"  Belinda,"  says  Roger  Temple,  somewhat  irrel- 
evantly, "  don't  speak  of  Miss  Burke,  child,  until  the 
subject  is  forced  upon  us.  There  is  something  you 
have  omitted  to  explain  to  me,  and  this  is  a  good 
moment  to  have  it  out.  Mr.  Jones  has  gone — my  pro- 
found gratitude  go  with  him — but  why  \  What  sent 
Mr.  Jones  away  ?" 

"  I'm  sure  I  don't  know ;  that  is  of  course,  I 
know,"  answered  Belinda  lucidly.  "  Mr.  Jones 
went — well,  because  he  found  there  was  no  good  in 
his  remaining  any  longer." 

"  I  see.  You  have  behaved  badly  to  him,  Belinda, 
confess  it !  Four  days  ago  your  dearest  hope  in  life 
was  to  possess  the  Jones  diamonds.  Don't  you  re- 
member what  you  said  that  first  evening  of  our 
acquaintance,  the  evening  when  Senora  Lagrimas 
promised  to  show  me  the  Alhambra  ? " 


A  VAGABOND  HEROINE.  207 

She  turns  away  quickly,  yet  not  so  quickly  but 
that  Roger  can  mark  the  conscious  reddening  of  her 
cheek.  "  I  behaved  badly  to  him,  I  know,  and  to 
myself  too  ;  badly  from  beginning  to  end.  It  makes 
me  ashamed  when  I  think  of  it.  But  now — oh,  I 
have  grown  old  and  wise  suddenly.  It  seems  quite 
a  year  since  you  and  Rose  first  came  to  St.  Jean  de 
Luz." 

tl  I  am  sorry  we  have  made  your  time  hang  so 
heavily." 

Xo  answer.  Though  they  are  only  talking  of 
Augustus  Jones  and  his  diamonds,  talking  as  they 
might  do  if  Rose  or  Miss  Burke  stood  by,  instinct 
tells  Belinda  what  supreme  moment  hurries  on  apace. 
And  her  heart  is  beating  so  that  she  can  hear  its 
beats.  If  her  life  depended  on  it  she  could  not  lift 
her  eyes  to  Roger's  ! 

"  However,  you  will  be  rid  of  us  soon.  Spencer 
is  not  amusing  herself,  it  seems,  and  Rose  says  she 
does  not  dare  stay  more  than  two  days  longer. 
Don't  quite  forget  us  when — Belinda,  oh,  my  dar- 
ling!" 

And  with  this  all  is  over.  The  tears  are  raining 
down  her  cheeks,  and  Roger  Temple  has  taken  her 
hands  in  his  and  spoken  words  such  as  he  never,  no, 
not  even  in  that  unlawful  whisper  beside  the  hippo- 
potamus, spoke  to  Rose. 

"  I  have  been  so  miserable,"  she  stammers  out 
her  poor  little  confession  presently,  "miserable, 
hopeless,  happy,  all  at  once.  Don't  think  badly, 


208  A  VAGABOND  HEliOINE. 

don't  think  altogether  badly  of  me,  sir,  and  never, 
never,  never  tell  Rose  !  " 

"  Think  badly  of  you,  Belinda,  child !  That  is 
the  cruellest  stab.  What,  in  God's  name,  do  you 
suppose  I  think  of  myself  ?  " 

"And  you  will  never  tell  Rose — I  mean  when 
you  are  far  away,  and  all  this  is  like  a  dream  ?  You 
will  never  tell  Rose,  and  you  will  not  blame  me 
more  than  you  can  help,  when  you  think  of  me  ? " 

"  Blame  you,  my  dearest ! "  And  Roger  draws 
Aer,  shrinking,  trembling,  with  a  rapture  that  is 
half  joy,  half  fear,  to  his  breast. 

The  organ  plays  on  and  on  within  the  church, 
and  the  priest's  voice  drones  out  the  christening 
service,  and  down  beneath,  on  the  shore,  the  fisher 
children  are  calling  to  each  other,  and  far  off  ebbs 
and  falls  the  Atlantic.  Belinda  knows  not  whether 
these  sounds  last  a  minute  or  an  hour.  To  human 
hearts  in  intense  pleasure  as  in  intense  pain,  the  arbi- 
trary divisions  of  time  exist  not.  Roger  loves  her, 
Roger  loves  her,  and  she  is  with  him — her  hand 
clasped  in  his,  his  breath  upon  her  cheek,  his  whis- 
pers— 

"  Montrez  moi  les  robes  de  pretre,"  cries-  a  voice 
in  rasping  tourist  French.  "  Quand  j'ai  vu  je  paie, 
pas  avang." 

And  into  the  sacristy,  note-book  in  hand,  stalks 
Miss  Burke,  her  sharp  little  point  of  a  nose  crim- 
soned by  the  sun,  her  boots  thick  with  unsavory 
harbor  mud.  A  dirty  small  boy  in  a  dirtier  surplice, 
one  of  the  functionaries  of  the  church,  attends  her. 


A  VAGABOND  HEROINE.  209 

Belinda  and  Captain  Temple  come  in  at  once 
from  the  balcony.  Belinda,  to  whom,  as  we  know, 
the  small  change  falsehoods  of  conventionality  are 
not  familiar,  hangs  her  head  and  is  silent.  Roger 
has  the  extraordinary  assurance  to  express  his  satis- 
faction at  the  meeting,  and  to  add — Miss  Burke 
watching  his  face;  I  blush  for  him  as  I  write  it — 
that  they  were  "  looking  for  her." 

"  So  I  perceive,"  says  the  lady  curtly.  "  Looking 
for  me  among  the  idolatries  of  a  Popish  church ! 
May  I  inquire  whether  you  have  also  looked  for  a 
hotel  and  ordered  dinner?  I  believe,  I  believe,  Cap- 
tain Temple,  it  was  for  that  purpose  that  you  left 
me  alone  in  the  boat." 

"  Well,  I — I — the  fact  is,  I  don't  know  that  we 
came  across  any  hotel,"  says  Roger  with  an  air  of 
penitence.  "  But  if  you  and  Belinda  will  remain 
here  I—" 

"  I  have  found  a  hotel,  and  I  have  ordered  dinner," 
says  Miss  Burke.  "When  a  gentleman"  with  a 
northern  emphasis  on  the  word,  "  when  a  gentleman 
happens  to  belong  to  my  party,  I  invariably  take  care 
to  see  to  all  practical  matters  myself.  Luckily  I  am 
accustomed  to  independence.'' 

She  turns  tartly  away,  and  with  the  help  of  her 
small  cicerone  proceeds  to  overhaul  the  "  idolatries1' 
of  the  place ;  the  vestments,  embroidered  by  loving, 
foolish,  fingers  in  many  a  distant  convent  cell,  our 
Lady  of  Delight,  our  Lady  of  Pain — all  are  viewed 
in  the  same  cold,  business  spirit  by  the  Woman  of  the 


210  A  VAGABOND  HEROINE. 

Future,  and  catalogued  in  the  irrepressible  note-book 
for  literary  use. 

Belinda  keeps  studiously  by  her  side,  and  away 
from  Roger.  The  sound  of  Miss  Burke's  voice,  the 
expression  of  Miss  Burke's  eye,  have  brought  the 
poor  child  back  roughly  from  Elysium  to  the  world 
of  fact.  Five  minutes  ago  she  was  in  her  lover's 
arms,  happy  to  the  verge  of  pain,  uncalculating  of  the 
future,  unconscious  of  either  innocence  or  guilt.  He 
is  Captain  Temple,  Rosie's  affianced  husband  now, 
and  she  is  divided  from  him — oh,  forever,  and  ever- 
more. That  caress  was  their  first  and  last.  The  de- 
light that,  beat  out  thin,  is  made  to  extend  over 
thirty  or  forty  years  of  some  women's  lives,  has 
lasted  for  her — as  long  as  a  kiss  lasts,  no  more.  And 
all  the  time  the  organ  continues  playing ;  and  the 
sun  shines  in  through  the  painted  sacristy  windows ; 
and  the  children  shout  still  by  the  river ;  and  the  lit- 
tle altar  boy,  with  his  picturesque  face  and  dirty  sur- 
plice, chatters  volubly  of  saints,  miracles,  and  ma- 
donnas. The  external  world  as  full  of  sunshine  and 
glad  sounds  as  it  was  ten  minutes  ago  ;  and  her  world 
shipwrecked. 

Alas,  how  easily  things  go  wrong  1 

A  sigh  too  much,  or  a  kiss  too  long, 

And  there  follow  a  mist,  and  a  sweeping  rain, 

And  life  is  never  the  same  again. 

They  eat  their  dinner  of  strange  herbs,  garlic  pre- 
dominant, at  the  one  modest  posada  the  town  pos- 
sesses; drink  their  coffee,  or  what  the  innkeeper 


A  VAGABOND  HEROINE.  211 

writes  in  his  bill  as  coffee,  in  the  street,  the  whole 
population,  lay  and  clerical,  of  Fontarabia  looking  on ; 
then  the  quick  Southern  night  falls  suddenly  on  plain 
and  mountain,  and  they  must  prepare  to  return.  Be- 
linda's promised  six  hours  of  happiness  are  all  but 
spent.  All  but — how  many  a  fateful  turning  in  one's 
life  is  encompassed  by  those  two  short  words ! 

Miss  Burke  insists  that  she,  and  she  alone,  shall 
make  the  bargain  for  the  carriage.  "  Captain  Tem- 
ple undertook  to  arrange  for  us  about  the  boat,"  she 
remarks.  "  If  we  wish  to  get  back  to  France  to-night, 
the  business  part  of  the  matter  had  better  now  be 
left  to  me.  It  requires  moral  courage  to  hold  one's 
own  with  these  shilly-shally,  false  tongued  Spaniards, 
and  gentlemen  as  a  rule  are  not  possessed  of  moral 
courage.  I  am." 

As  the  sequel  proves.  After  half  an  hour's  hot 
contest,  Miss  Burke  has  succeeded  in  beating  the 
cochero  down  to  the  very  lowest  fraction  for  which 
mortal  souls  may  be  conveyed  across  the  frontier  to 
St.  Jean  de  Luz;  the  fruits  of  her  moral  courage 
being  the  oldest,  craziest  carriage  that  Fontarabia 
can  produce,  with  a  horse  gaunt  and  shadowy  as  ever 
came  from  Dore's  pencil  in  his  illustrations  of  Don 
Quixote. 

And  here  again,  mark  one  of  those  results  of  hid- 
den causes  which  we  are  pleased  to  call  fate.  Had 
Miss  Burke  ordered  any  decent,  Christian  pattern  of 
conveyance,  with  cattle  to  match,  they  had  all  re- 
mained decorously  in  each  other's  society  throughout 
the  journey ;  no  further  whisper,  or  ghost  of  a  whis- 
per, between  Roger  and  Belinda  possible.  But  this 


212  A  VAGABOND  HEROINE. 

cranky  vehicle  is  so  heavy,  the  horse  so  weak,  that 
long  before  they  reach  the  frontier  bridge  at  Irun, 
they  are  going  at  snail's  pace ;  by  the  time  they 
commence  the  ascent  of  Behobia  they  have  come  to 
a  dead  lock.  The  driver  descends  from  his  box; 
swears  fearfully  in  Spanish,  French,  Basque ;  cracks 
his  whip,  applies  his  shoulder,  or  goes  through  the 
pantomime  of  applying  it  to  the  wheel.  In  vain. 
Not  a  step  further  can  poor  Rosinante  stir.  Their 
highnesses,  these  ladies  and  the  gentleman,  must 
make  the  ascent  on  foot  if  they  would  reach  St.  Jean 
to-night.  No  help  for  it.  The  horse  was  one  of  the 
best  horses  in  Spain  in  his  day,  but  what  will  you 
have  ?  to  every  pig  comes  Martinmas — his  day  is 
past.  If  their  highnesses  had  only  consented  to  hire 
a  pair ! 

Roger  and  Belinda  jump  out  at  once;  Miss 
Burke  refuses  to  move,  again  on  principle.  The 
man  undertook  to  drive  her  from  Fontarabia  to  St. 
Jean  de  Luz,  and  he  shall  hold  to  his  bargain,  if  he 
take  the  whole  night  about  it. 

So  "fate"  has  her  way.  On  goes  the  cranky 
carriage ;  on  go  the  swearing  driver  and  the  high- 
souled  Burke;  Belinda  and  Roger  are  left  alone  once 
more.  Alone,  but  how  far  more  cruelly  divided, 
how  infinitely  nearer  than  when  they  loitered  beside 
the  altars  of  the  dim  old  church  at  Fontarabia. 
Now  has  come  the  moment  of  temptation  in  earnest. 
They  have  but  to  turn  their  faces  and  the  road  to 
the  Alhambra  lies  straight  as  road  can  lie  before 
them.  And  in  the  heart  of  each  is  the  memory  of  a 
kiss ! 


CIIAPTEK  XIII. 

"BOHEMIAN  HONOR.'' 

AKE  my  arm,  Belinda.  The  way  is  steep." 
The  way  is  steep,  the  loneliness  profound. 
Upon  one  side  stretches  forth  the  Atlantic', 
silent  at  this  hour,  and  motionless  as  any 
little  mountain  tarn ;  upon  the  other  are  the  wild 
sierras  and  rocky  deliles  of  the  Pass.  Behind  them 
— the  lights  from  a  score  of  scattered  villages  gleam- 
ing through  the  dusk — lies  Spain,  the  land  of  dreams, 
the  land  which  even  prosaic  middle  age  cannot  quit 
without  a  sigh. 

"  And  we  have  not  seen  the  Alhambra  after  all," 
says  Roger,  some  minutes  later.  She  took  his  arm, 
as  he  bade  her;  her  hand  has  become  clasped,  who 
knows  how  \  in  his,  and  she  does  not  seek  to  draw  it 
away.  "  Correctness,"  the  outwork  of  weakness,  the 
prudery  born  of  knowledge,  is  to  Belinda's  Arab 
soul  unknown.  She  is  only  honest  as  yet. 

"  No,  we  have  not  seen  the  Alhambra,"  in  rather 
a  shaky  voice  comes  her  answer,  "  and  we  are  not 
likely  to  see  it — together,  at  all  events.'5 


214:  A  VAGABOND  HEROINE. 

"  Six  short  hours  in  Spain,  and  four  of  those 
spent  with  Miss  Burke  !  Now,  what  can  be  the  use 
of  people  like  Miss  Burke?"  speculates  Roger, 
philosophically.  "  I  suppose  one  ought  to  accept 
them  without  questioning,  like  heat  or  electricity,  or 
any  other  irreducible  phenomena.  They  exist,  and 
that  is  as  much  as  will  ever  be  known  about  them." 

"  I  dare  say  I  shall  know  enough  about  Burke 
before  I  have  done  with  her,"  remarks  Belinda. 

"You — you  are  not  going  to  live  with  Miss 
Burke  any  longer,"  says  Roger  hurriedly,  and  by  no 
means  calculating  into  what  imprudence  he  will  be 
betrayed  next. 

"  I  don't  see  what  I  should  gain  by  leaving  her, 
sir.  We  are  accustomed,  at  least,  to  hating  each 
other !  I  might  be  worse  oft'  among  strangers." 

"  Belinda,"  stopping  short  and  looking  down 
into  her  face,  "What  is  the  use  of  talking  or  pre- 
tending to  talk  like  this  ?  As  if  either  of  us  could 
forget !  You  to  spend  the  best  years  of  your  youth 
with  Miss  Burke,  and  I — great  heavens !  the  thing 
is  a  mockery !  But  it  is  not  too  late,  my  darling,  it 
is  not  too  late.  We  may  draw  back  yet." 

There  are  few  men  who  make  love  really  well, 
as  regards  eloquence  of  speech  :  ardent  emotion  and 
rounded  periods  seldom  going  hand  in  hand,  save  in 
the  very  highest  regions  of  melodrama.  But  language( 
that  in  black  and  white  reads  trite  enough,  may 
easily  be  alchemized  into  poetry  of  a  glorious  sum- 
mer night,  in  a  mountain  sierra,  with  the  stars 


A  VAGABOND  HEROINE.  215 

* 

shining  overhead,  and  an  uncritical  heart  of  seventeen 
beating  time  to  all  you  say. 

"  I  don't  want  to  draw  back,"  says  Belinda,  mis- 
understanding him.  "  All  this  has  come  upon  me — 
I  scarce  know  how — come  upon  me  whether  I  wished 
it  or  not.  But  if  I  could,  I  would  not  draw  back 
now  for  I  shall  have  been  happy." 

Roger  folds  her  to  him  in  quick  embrace.  "And 
we  shall  be  separated  no  more,  my  child,"  he  whis- 
pers. "  Why,  it  would  be  monstrous  for  the  happi- 
ness of  our  lives — of  all  our  lives — to  be  sacrificed 
for  mere  want  of  courage  to  speak.  We  shall  be 
separated  no  more." 

He  is,  I  repeat,  one  of  the  most  chivalrously  hon- 
orable men  breathing.  But  chivalrously  honorable 
people  not  unfrequently  get  themselves  into  perplex- 
ities more  stinging  than  fall  to  the  lot  of  good  blunt- 
edged,  unrefined  common  sense.  Many  a  man,  on 
his  road  to  the  altar  with  an  affluent  widow  of  forty, 
might  be  tempted  into  snatching  a  kiss  from  some 
pair  of  younger,  sweeter  lips  by  the  way.  Roger 
knows  that  he  has  snatched  not  a  kiss  only,  but  a 
heart,  from  this  poor  little  girl  whom  his  arm  encir- 
cles; and  revolted  conscience  hurries  him  into  an 
atonement  more  perilous  than  the  crime.  To  reject 
Belinda's  love — to  play  the  traitor  with  Rose — either 
alternative  would  be  intolerable  to  him  in  cold  blood. 
But  his  blood  is  by  no  means  cold  at  the  present 
moment ;  and  he  can  hear  the  beating  of  Belinda's 
heart,  and  Rose,  poor,  foolish,  elderly,  artificial  Rose, 
is  an  abstraction. 


21 G  A  VAGABOND  HEROINE. 

"Never  separated,"  repeats  Belinda  half  impa 
tiently.     "We  shall   be  separated  forever,  sir,  and 
you  know  it!      Separated  a  thousand  times   more 
than  if  you  were  going  to  marry  a  stranger." 

"  Marry !  Don't  talk  of  my  marrying.  I  can 
never  rnarry  any  one  but — " 

The  words  are  spoken  under  Roger  Temple's 
breath,  but  they  fall,  with  clearness  such  as  human 
speech  never  possessed  for  her  before,  on  Belinda's 
ear.  She  turns  deadly  white  ;  even  with  this  mask 
of  night  upon  her  face,  Roger  can  see  her  change 
color.  She  breaks  from  his  embrace. 

"  Tell  me  what  you  mean  outright,  Captain  Tem- 
ple. Say  what  you  have  to  say  plainly.  You  do  not 
consider  yourself  bound,  then,  to  marry  Rose  ?" 

And  thus  Roger  is  forced  upon  the  very  horns  of 
the  dilemma.  Easy  to  suggest  a  possible  dereliction 
from  duty,  by  sigh  or  whisper ;  horribly  hard  to  put 
into  language  with  the  honestest  pair  of  child's  eyes 
in  the  world  looking  straight  into  one's  weak, 
troubled  soul.  "  He  had  made  an  egregious  error." 
Something  to  this  effect  does  he  at  length  contrive  to 
answer  her.  "During  the  past  dozen  years  or  more 
had  mistaken  a  sentiment  for  passion,  and  Rosie, 
poor  Rosie,  it  may  be,  had  mistaken  too.  But  Rose 
must  be  appealed  to — the  happiness  of  all  their  lives 
left  in  her  hands.  She  was  the  most  absolutely  gen- 
erous of  women." 

"  Who  ?  Rose  ?  "  interrupts  Belinda  sharply. 
"  Well,  generosity  is  the  last  quality  I  should  have 


A  VAGABOND  HEROINE.  217 

assigned  to  my  stepmamma !  However,  you  should 
know  best,  Captain  Temple,  you  should  know  best." 

The  tone,  in  which  the  interruption  is  made,  the 
cruel,  mocking  laugh  accompanying  it  are  Belinda 
to  the  life;  Belinda  as  she  used  to  be  before  the 
great  transmitter  changed  all  the  baser  metal  of  her 
nature  to  gold.  But  Roger's  passionate  mood  is 
rather  quickened  than  checked  by  the  outburst. 
"What  man  but  must  feel  secretly  flattered  by  the 
tender  fierceness,  the  charming  rancor,  of  one  pretty 
woman  toward  another,  especially  when  he  knows 
himself  to  be  the  predisposing  cause  ? 

"My  dearest  little  girl,"  he  begins  soothingly, 
and  taking  her  hand  again  in  his. 

But  Belinda  breaks  from  him  impetuously. 

"  Captain  Temple,  let  us  understand  each  other," 
she  cries,  lifting  her  eyes,  with  piercing  earnestness, 
to  his  face.  "  After  a  dozen  years'  fidelity,  you  love 
Rose  no  longer,  it  seems, — are  ready  to  throw  her 
and  your  fidelity  to  the  winds,  and  for  my  sake! 
"Well,  now,  if  this  indeed  is  truth,  not  flattery,  carry 
it  into  eifect  without  delay.  If  we  mean  to  commit 
a  dishonest  action,  let  us  get  it  over  at  once,  and 
without  the  treachery  of  soft  words — appealing  to 
poor  Rosie's  generosity,  leaving  the  happiness  of  all 
our  lives  in  poor  Rosie's  hands — bah !  J,  at  least,  am 
not  made  of  such  mawkish  stuff!" 

"  Belinda,  child.     Great  heaven !  If  you  knew — " 

"  Over  away  there,  sir,  not  a  couple  of  miles  off, 
is  Spain.  I  know  every  turn,  every  short  cut  through 
the  mountains.  "What  hinders  you  and  me  from  go- 


218  A  VAGABOND  HEROINE. 

ing  to  the  Alhambra  as  we  planned  ?  Miss  Burke  will 
say  she  left  us,  and  Rosie,  poor  Rosie,  must  guess 
the  rest.  Are  you  ready  ?  " 

"  Ready  ?  "  repeats  Roger  Temple  gravely.  Won- 
derfully has  his  blood  cooled,  amazingly  has  reason 
reasserted  herself,  under  the  shock  of  the  girl's  auda- 
city. "  You  are  asking  me,  you  know  not  what,  Be- 
linda ;  but  the  fault  is  mine,  wholly  mine.  We  will, 
as  you  say,  stoop  to  no  treachery  of  soft  words.  I 
will  speak  openly  to  Rose  to-night,  and — 

"  And  whatever  Rose  answers,  whatever  you  may 
work  upon  Rose  to  answer,  mind,  I  have  done  with 
you  ! "  cries  Belinda,  in  a  voice  of  concentrated  pas- 
sion. "  You  think  you  know  me  because  you  have 
amused  yourself  by  flirting  with  me  for  half  a  dozen 
days,  sir ;  because  you  have  played  a  few  scenes  of 
moonshine  love  on  a  balcony,  and  won  me  to  say 
what  I  said  to  you  this  afternoon.  But  you  know 
me  no  more  than  the  first  stranger  who  meets  me  in 
the  street.  "What !  You  think  I  would  sink  so  low 
as  to  marry  you — Rosie's  lover?" 

"  You  stooped  so  low,  I  thought  as  to  like  me  a 
little,"  is  Roger's  reply.  "  But  you  are  ashamed  al- 
ready, small  wonder,  God  knows,  of  your  folly  !  " 

For  a  second  or  two  Belinda  is  dumb.  "  If  I  liv- 
ed fifty  more  years,"  she  breaks  forth  then,  "if  I  liv- 
ed to  be  an  old,  old  woman,!  should  never  be  asham- 
ed of  what  you  call  '  my  folly.'  Never.  If — if  such 
a  feeling  were  shameful,  how  could  it  have  come  into 
my  heart  ?  I  never  tried,  I  never  wanted  to  like  you. 


A  VAGABOND  HEROINE.  £19 

I  knew  nothing  at  all  about  it  till  I  woke  up  to-day, 
and  then  it  was  too  late  to  go  back.  Was  it  not  ? " 

"  Too  late  indeed,"  repeats  Roger,  horribly  con- 
trite— contrite  as  a  man  might  feel  who,  through 
blundering  accident,  had  injured  a  little  child  for 
life. 

"  "Well,  I  can't  help  what  I  feel  any  more  than  I 
can  help  breathing,  but  my  actions — those  are  my 
own.  And  to  think  that  I  would  take  you  by  stealth, 
dishonestly  take  you  from  Rose,  I,  who  wouldn't  do 
a  sneaking  thing  to  save  my  life  !  " 

"Belinda,  I—" 

"  I  don't  pretend  to  be  good  or  virtuous,  you  see, 
for  I've  been  so  kicked  about  here  and  there,  and 
have  seen  so  much  and  heard  so  much,  that  I  don't 
rightly  know  what  virtue  is.  But  whatever  game  I 
play,  I  play  it  fair.  Ask  the  fellows  in  St.  Jean  de 
Luz  if  they  have  ever  known  me  score  a  false  point  or 
take  a  dirty  advantage  of  any  one.  You  have  prom- 
ised to  marry  Rose,  and  you  must  marry  her,  by 
heaven  !  Whether  you  love  her  or  not,  you  should 
love  your  own  honor  too  well  to  think  of  change 
now." 

And  here,  if  the  reader  asks  me  how  comes  this 
quality  of  inalienable  uprightness  to  exist  in  Belinda 
O'Shea's  heart,  a  poor  neglected  little  Arab,  igno- 
rant of  the  very  ABC  of  so  many  ornamental  vir- 
tues, I  answer,  I  know  no  more  than  how  the  wall- 
flower gets  its  color  and  perfume  from  the  rock.  It 
may  be  that  some  qualities  of  the  human  soul  flour- 
ish better  exposed  to  all  life's  generous  chances  than 


220  A  VAGABOND  HEROINE. 

under  lock  and  key — that  moral  growths,  like  physi- 
cal ones,  have  a  tendency  to  elude  the  barriers  of 
system.  The  finest  wine  of  Medoc,  remember,  is 
raised  from  a  soil  where  'weeds  refuse  to  thrive. 

"  You  read  me  a  sharp  lesson,"  says  Roger  Tem- 
ple. "  You  make  me  see  my  own  conduct  in  a  fear- 
fully clear  light,  Belinda." 

"  Yours  !  You  have  not  been  to  blame  at  all," 
cries  the  girl,  womanlike  in  this,  that  she  should 
sooner  guilt  rested  with  her  than  blame  with  the 
man  she  loves.  "  You  meant  only  to  be  kind  to  me 
at  first  for  Rosie's  sake.  How  could  you  guess  I  was 
going  to  make  such  a  miserable  fool  of  myself  ? " 

Her  voice  quivers,  breaks  down  ;  she  covers  her 
face  between  her  hands,  and  once  more  Roger's  arm, 
unresisted,  holds  her  close.  The  embrace  lasts  for  a 
minute's  space  or  more,  and  Roger  is  the  first  to 
speak. 

"  Before  we  go  on  our  way  again,  before  we  go 
back  to  our  path  and  duty,  I  want  you  to  say  just 
one  word,  child — that  you  forgive  me." 

"  I  have  nothing  to  forgive.  If  I  could  choose, 
I  would  live  the  time  over  again  since  I  have  known 
you — yes,  up  to  this  very  minute." 

"  And  are  we  going  to  be  friends  or  enemies  in 
the  days  to  come  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  about  '  friends.'  I  shall  care  for 
you  till  the  day  I  die,  as  I  do  now." 

"  And  I  may  have  one  more  kiss — a  last  one  ? " 

She  throws  her  arms  round  his  neck  without  a 
word. 


A  VAGABOND  HEROINE. 


221 


But  Roger  does  not  misunderstand  her  this  time. 
In  the  intensity,  the  abandonment  of  that  caress  he 
reads  aright,  that  Belinda  is  taking  leave  of  him  for- 
ever. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 


THE   CURTAIN   FALLS. 

now  the  closing  act  remains  to  be  played. 
Scene,  Rosie's  drawing-room  at  the  Isabella ; 
a  lamp  or  two  artistically  disposed  round  the 
central  figure  of  the  tableau  ;  Venetian  shut- 
ters, half  closed ;  a  voluptuous  fragrance  from  the 
magnolias  and  orange  flowers  in  the  court-yard 
below.  Central  figure,  Rosie,  dressed  in  the  palest 
lavender  silk  that  ever  milliner  called  mourning,  with 
white  Spanish  veil,  with  jet  comb  and  earrings,  with 
the  bloom  of  undying  youth  (warranted)  on  her 
cheek — Rosie,  light  of  spirit,  satisfied  with  herself 
and  with  the  vrorld,  that  forms  her  background,  as 
ever. 

To  her,  just  as  nine  o'clock  strikes,  enters  Belinda, 
tired-looking,  dust-stained,  her  cheeks  paler  than  her 
dress,  her  eyes  showing  all  too  plainly  the  marks  of 
recent  tears. 

"Why,  Belinda,  I  thought  you  were  never  com- 
ing back,  any  of  you !  -  And  what  an  object !  I  am 


A  VAGABOND  HEROINE.  223 

more  thankful  than  ever  I  did  not  go.  These  sorts 
of  days  are  mistakes." 

"Utter  mistakes/'  repeats  Belinda,  sinking  into 
the  first  chair  she  comes  across.  "  You  have  had  by 
far  the  best  of  it  at  home,  Rosie.'' 

"  It  certainly  is  nice  to  say  one  has  been  in  Spain, 
but  one  can  say  it  just  as  well  without  going,  and  as 
to  churches  and  things,  they  are  all  alike,  and  you 
never  know  what  horrid  disease  you  may  catch. 
How  do  you  like  me  in  a  veil  ?  Spencer  insists  that 
she  has  pinned  it  right,  but  I  am  not  sure  that  it 
should  be  fastened  so  high.  Now,  just  see — oh,  you 
must  stand  up  to  get  the  full  effect — do  you  think 
one  inch  lower  would  be  more  becoming  ?  Look  at 
me  attentively,  full  face  and  profile." 

Rosie  turns  herself  slowly  round,  as  the  wax 
ladies  with  big  eyelashes  turn  in  the  barbers'  shops, 
and  Belinda  watches  her  with  a  pang  of  wearied 
envy :  envy,  not  of  her  charms,  but  of  this  all-engross- 
ing vanity  which  so  fills  and  satisfies  the  creature's 
own  foolish  life. 

"  Spencer  is  right,  Rose.  It  is  pinned  to  perfec- 
tion. An  inch,  half  an  inch,  either  way,  might  spoil 
the  effect." 

"I  thought  I  looked  rather  well,"  says  Rose, 
coquettishly  surveying  herself  in  an  opposite  mirror. 
"  But,  of  course,  in  trying  a  new  style  one  is  apt  to 
be  nervous.  And  then  I  have  a  horror  of  anything 
theatrical.  ^Nothing,  I  know,  would  occasion  Colonel 
Drewe  such  a  shock  as  to  find  me  looking  theat- 
rical. He  had  always  the  most  fastidious  taste." 


224:  A  VAGABOND  HEROINE. 

"Colonel  Drewe ?"  repeats  Belinda,  a  little  ab- 
sently. "  Ah,  to  be  sure,  I  had  forgotten.  You  and 
Colonel  Drewe  have  not  seen  each  other  yet,  then  ? " 

"No;  poor  dear  fellow — Stanley  does  not  yet 
know  the  worst !  He  wanted  to  call  on  me,  not  ten 
minutes  after  you  had  started,  but  Spencer  made  so 
much  of  my  headache — she  is  really  a  fool,  Belinda, 
when  you  put  her  to  the  test — Spencer  made  so 
much  of  my  headache,  and  my  sufferings,  that,  at 
last,  he  took  her  at  her  word,  and  went  to  Biarritz 
for  the  afternoon,  saying  he  would  call  again  at  nine, 
for  certain.  Spencer  declares  the  passionate  expres- 
sion of  his  eyes  when  he  said  those  words  "'  for  certain,' 
was  enough  to  make  your  blood  run  cold." 

"Then  I  am  not  wanted,  Rose,"  says  Belinda, 
rising.  "  If  Colonel  Drewe  is  to  be  here  with  pas- 
sionate eyes,  at  nine,  the  sooner  I  take  myself  off  the 
better." 

But  the  widow  will,  for  no  consideration,  be  left 
alone ;  is  coy  as  a  girl  of  seventeen  at  the  thought 
of  receiving  Colonel  Drewe,  any  gentleman,  at  nine 
o'clock  in  the  evening,  unchaperoned.  At  least,  Be- 
linda must  stop  until  the  first  shock  of  the  meeting, 
the  first  agonized  shake  of  the  hands  is  over ;  and 
then — then  it  suddenly  occurs  to  Mrs.  Rose  to  in- 
quire for  her  own  lawfully  affianced  lover,  whose 
existence,  in  the  delightful  excitement  of  Colonel 
Drewe's  arrival,  she  has,  to  tell  the  truth,  as  near  as 
possible  forgotten. 

"  Captain  Temple  will  be  here  in  a  few  minutes," 
says  Belinda.  Well  must  she  school  herself  before 


A  VAGABOND  HEROINE.  225 

her  tongue  can  falter  out  his  name  I  "  Miss  Burke 
hired  the  most  horrible  old  rattle-trap  to  bring  us 
back  from  Fontarabia,  and  Captain  Temple  and  I 
had  to  walk  a  good  part  of  the  way.  And  it  was 
dusty — and  I  believe  Captain  Temple  has  gone  to 
his  lodgings  to  change  his  coat." 

The  girl  dissimulates  vilely ;  stammers,  changes 
color  at  every  word.  But  Rosie's  universe  at  the 
present  moment  is  comprised  in  one  fondly-imagined 
vision,  Colonel  Drewe,  and  she  sees,  hears  nothing. 

"  Dear,  good,  old  Roger !  I  can  assure  you,  Be- 
linda, this  has  been  the  most  harrowing  day  of  my 
whole  life — first  thinking  of  one  of  them,  then  the 
other  I  If  I  had  to  decide  selfishly,"  sayg  Rose,  "  if 
Roger  Temple's  very  life  did  not  hang  upon  my 
fidelity,  as  it  does,  I  am  not  sure,  considering  age  and 
standing  and  everything  else,  I  should  not  incline 
most  toward  Stanley.  Mind,  I  only  say,  I  am  not 
sure.  The  Temples  are  a  most  excellent  family.  I 
shall  get  Lady  OKvia  Temple  to  present  me  at  court 
next  spring,  and  if  there  is  a  thing  I  adore  in  the 
world,  it  is  birth." 

"  Except  in  the  case  of  Mr.  Augustus  Jones/' 
suggests  Belinda. 

"  Ah,  poor  Mr.  Jones ! "  says  Rose  in  an  altered 
voice.  "  That  was  quite  a  different  thing.  Money 
in  these  days  is  a  kind  of  aristocracy.  I  am  afraid, 
Belinda,  you  have  behaved  very  foolishly  about  Au- 
gustus," she  runs  on.  "  I  did  everything  in  my 
power  to  forward  your  interests,  and  now,  it  seems, 
he  has  left  the  place  out  of  temper  with  us  all.  If 
10* 


226  A  VAGABOND  HEROINE. 

you  throw  away  excellent  chances  in  this  way,  what 
prospect  can  there  be  of  your  settling  ?  " 

"  What  prospect,  indeed  ?  Most  likely  I  am 
fated  to  be  an  old  maid,  Rosie.  No  use  fighting 
against  fate,  you  know." 

"  If  Roger's  disposition  were  different,  I  should 
be  willing  to  offer  you  a  home  with  us  at  once.  For 
your  poor  father's  sake,  Belinda,  in  memory  of  the 
tender,  perfect  attachment  that  existed  between  us,  I 
shall  always  look  upon  you  with  a  mother's  eyes,  and 
after  a  time  I  shall  hope  to  bring  Roger  into  my 
wishes.  But  at  present  he  is  so  sensitive,  morbidly 
sensitive  I  call  it,  as  regards  my  undivided  attention ! 
I  am  certain  he  would  be  jealous,  even  of  your  con- 
stant presence.'' 

"  Yery  likely — it  would  be  rash,  at  all  events,  to 
try  the  experiment !  And  no  change  of  life  would 
make  me  happier  than  I  am.  Miss  Burke  talks  of 
travelling  in  Germany  before  she  begins  a  fresh  book. 
I  may  as  well  travel  in  Germany  with  her.  By  the 
time  I  have  learned  another  language  or  two  I  could 
earn  a  decent  livelihood,  could  I  not,  as  a  teacher  in 
a  school  ? " 

"  Well,  there  can  never  be  any  harm  in  a  young 
woman  acquiring  the  means  of  independence,"  says 
Rose.  "  Although,  with  your  means,  Belinda,  you 
will  at  all  times  have  enough  to  support  you  nicely. 
Perhaps,"  complacently,  "  teaching  may  be  your  vo- 
cation, my  dear.  It  is  not  every  woman,"  with  a 
sigh,  "  who  is  destined  for  marriage ;  and,  really, 


A  VAGABOND  HEROINE.  227 

those  who  are  not  have  much  to"  be  thankful  for. 
Marriage,  as  I  know  to  my  cost,  is  a  state — " 

But  the  summing  up  of  Rosie's  wedded  experi- 
ences remains  forever  incomplete.  Just  as  she  is 
speaking  comes  a  discreet  ladies'  maid's  tap  at  the 
outer  door  of  the  apartment,  and  in  another  moment 
appears  Spencer;  in  a  faded  grey  silk  dress,  with 
mock  jet  cross  and  earrings,  with  the  downcast  ogle 
of  mock  modesty,  a  cheap  imitation  of  her  mistress 
to  the  last. 

"  The  gentleman  who  called  this  morning,  ma'am, 
would  be  glad  to  know  if  you  are  sufficiently  well  to 
receive  him  ? '' 

Spencer's  face  telegraphs  the  intelligence  that  the 
visitor,  in  point  of  fact,  is  at  her  heels ;  and  Hose, 
sinking  a  little  further  away  from  the  lamplight,  ad- 
justs her  handkerchief  and  eyelashes  to  perfection 
point. 

"  I  will  make  an  eifort  to  see  this  gentleman, 
Spencer" — how  Colonel  Drewe's  heart  must  thrill 
at  that  veiled  cooing  voice !  "  I  am  far,  very  far, 
from  strong  yet,  still,  if  it  be  a  matter  of  business — '' 

Another  two  seconds,  and  the  visitor  is  midway 
across  the  room. 

He  is  tall,  just  Colonel  Drewe's  height,  and  has 
the  unmistakable  military  air  dear  to  Rosie's  heart. 
So  much,  without  uplifting  her  eyes,  the  widow  can 
discern.  But  what — what  ails  Belinda  !  The  girl 
has  grown  white  as  ashes ;  she  starts,  trembling,  to 
her  feet ;  a  cry  of  doubt,  fear,  hope,  all  blended, 
comes  from  her  lips. 


228  A  VAGABOND  HEROINE. 

"  Belinda,  my  dear,  let  me  introduce — "  begins 
Rose,  rising  with  languid  grace  from  the  sofa.  "  I 
don't  think  you  and  Colonel — Colonel — " 

The  poor  soul  turns  green  under  all  her  pearl 
powder,  under  all  her  fadeless,  warranted  "  Bloom  of 
Youth."  Well  she  may !  In  one  of  his  charming 
little  poems,  Owen  Meredith  tells  us  how,  in  the 
lives  of  most  men  and  women, 

There's  a  moment  when  things  might  yet  go  even, 
If  only  the  dead  could  find  out  when 
To  come  back  and  be  forgiven. 

But  resurrections  that  in  poetry  are  desirable 
enough,  may  prove  horribly  awkward  in  everyday 
prose,  especially  when  comfortable  fortunes  have 
been  inherited,  new  engagements  entered  upon  in  the 
interval.  Rose  turns  green,  feels  her  limbs  give 
way  beneath  her  ;  shrieks  ;  a  good  natural  shriek,  for 
once,  just  as  she  would  give  at  the  apparition  of  a  frog 
or  spider.  Then,  the  genius  of  folly  inspiring  her, 
moves  a  step  or  two  forward,  and  sinks  into  the 
stranger's  arms. 

"  I  knew  it  all  along  !  "  she  gasps  out.  "  My 
heart  told  me  you  were  never  really,  really  dead  !  " 

Could  the  best  actress,  the  cleverest  woman 
breathing,  have  hit  upon  a  falsity  so  utter,  so  concili- 
atory, so  impossible  of  contradiction  ?  I  repeat  that 
folly,  transcendent  as  Rosie's  folly,  scales  heights 
that  genius  itself  can  scarce  attain. 

O'Shea — for  it  is  indeed  Cornelius — holds  his 
wife  in  a  sort  of  rapture,  to  his  waistcoat.  (It  is  not 


A  VAGABOND  HEROINE.  229 

a  new  waistcoat,  Rosie  sorrowfully  perceives.  Many 
cheap  cigars  have  been  smoked,  much  brandy  and 
absinthe  consumed  since  either  waistcoat  or  coat  was 
new.  Cornelius,  in  very  truth,  has  been  "  muddled 
in  fortune's  rnoat,  and  smells  somewhat  strong  of  her 
displeasure.")  He  bends  his  head  down  over  hers. 

"  There  are  feelings  too  sacred  for  utterance,"  he 
exclaims.  Curious  when  people  feel  nothing  at  all, 
how  invariably  they  insist  upon  analyzing  their  feel- 
ings. "  The  years,  the  cruel  years  of  our  separation 
fade  away,  and  it  seems  but  yesterday  I  held  my  only 
darling  to  my  heart." 

"  But  I  am  changed  ? ''  murmurs  Rose,  the  iden- 
tical remark  she  murmured  on  that  first  night  of 
Roger's  return  from  India.  "  I  am  an  old,  old  wo- 
man now  ? '' 

She  lifts  her  face ;  traces  of  rice  powder  rest  on 
Major  O'Shea's  waistcoat,  as  they  rested  erewhile  on 
Roger's,  and  then,  looking  into  each  other's  eyes, 
and  holding  each  other's  hands,  husband  and  wife, 
in  broken,  oft-interrupted  accents,  make  mutual  con- 
fession. 

Cornelius  throws  infinite  pathos  into  his.  The 
newspaper  announcement  of  his  death,  he  declares, 
was,  in  the  first  instance,  a  hoax,  one  of  those  cruel 
practical  jokes  to  which  the  most  innocent  men  may 
fall  victims.  Afterwards — fretting,  as  was  his  habit, 
about  his  poor,  devoted  wife,  away  in  England — the 
idea  crossed  his  brain  of  working  out  the  mistake  to 
her  benefit.  "  My  life,  up  to  that  time,''  and  tears 
are  in  the  good  old  fellow's  eyes  as  he  speaks,  "my 


230  A  VAGABOND  HEROINE. 

life,  up  to  that  time,  had  brought  little  else  but  harm 
to  those  I  loved,  I  resolved  to  see  if  the  supposition 
of  my  death  might  not  prove  to  their  advantage. 
My  Rosie's  mental  sufferings  ? "  Hose,  at  this  point 
having  managed  to  falter  out  something  decorous 
about  the  suddenness  of  the  blow  and  her  own  anguish 
of  bereavement.  "  Ah,  my  love,  the  years  of  tran- 
quil domestic  happiness  before  us  now  must  atone 
for  itiat.  The  end,  my  Rosie — 'tis  false  morality — 
but  let  us  hope  that  in  this  case  at  least,  the  end  will 
justify  the  means." 

"  I'm  sure  I  hope  it  will  make  no  difference  about 
Uncle  Robert's  will."  This  is  Rosie's  first  really 
earnest  and  coherent  utterance.  Whatever  her  in- 
tellectual shortcomings  generally,  there  is  method  in 
Rosie's  folly  on  most  points  connected  with  money. 
"  I  know  my  uncle  would  never  have  left  me  a  shil- 
ling if  he  had  thought — " 

"  That  that  worthless  scoundrel  and  spendthrift, 
Cornelius  O'Shea,  still  haunted  the  earth,"  interrupts 
Cornelius,  with  admirable  frankness.  •  "Set  your 
mind  at  rest,  my  dear  girl.  I  consulted  my  lawyers 
about  all  the  troublesome  business  technicalities  of 
the  matter,  immediately  upon  my  return  to  England. 
The  money  is  as  legally  and  truly  yours  as  you  are 
legally  and  truly  mine,  and  only  mine,  Rose." 

So  much  for  Major  O'Shea.  Rosie  gets  through 
the  difficult  part  she  has  to  play  not  without  credit. 
After  looking  forward  to  being  the  wife  of  a  man, 
young,  handsome,  distinguished,  as  Roger  Temple — 
nay,  alter  hesitating,  one  short  quarter  of  an  hour 


A  VAGABOND  HEROINE.  231 

ago,  as  to  whether  Roger  Temple  or  that  elegant 
creature,  Stanley  Drewe,  should  be  the  object  of  one's 
choice,  now  suddenly  to  find  one's  self  folded  in  a 
husband's  legitimate  embrace !  A  husband  with 
his  nose  redder,  his  head  balder,  his  whole  person, 
alas,  a  vast  deal  older,  slovenlier,  uglier  than  when 
one  parted  from  him.  Would  not  the  situation  be 
tragic  to  many  a  wiser  and  better  woman  than  poor 
Eose? 

She  sighs  more  sincerely  than  she  ever  sighed  in 
her  life  before;  she  weeps  some  furtive  scalding 
tears  on  O' Shea's  well  worn  waistcoat.  She  is  sorry 
exceedingly ;  sorry  in  the  very  depths  of  her  soul 
over  his  resurrection.  But  although  a  husband, 
Cornelius  is  still  a  man,  and  it  is  not  in  Rosie's 
nature  to  act  otherwise  than  with  angelic  outward 
sweetness  toward  any  member  of  the  other  sex. 

•"  You  seem  to  forget  that  we  are  not  the  only 
people  in  the  world,"  she  whispers  to  him,  after  a 
time.  "  You  quite  forget  the  cause  that  brought  me 
to  St.  Jean  de  Luz — Belinda." 

And  now  Belinda,  who  has  with  difficulty  re- 
strained herself  during  the  scene  of  tender  connubial 
reunion,  rushes  forward  and  flings  herself  upon  her 
father's  breast. 

She  never  sees  that  his  coat  lacks  fashion,  and  his 
waistcoat  freshness.  Cheap  cigars,  brandy,  absinthe, 
none  of  these  things  are  perceived  by  Belinda. 
"  Papa  ?  My  own  darling  papa ! " 

As  she  clings  to  him,  as  she  feels  his  lips  upon 
her  head,  the  blind  adoring  love  of  old  childish  days 


232  A  VAGABOND  HEROINE. 

thrills  through  her  heart.  She  kisses  his  face,  his 
hands,  the  sleeve  of  his  threadbare  coat.  She  sends 
up  a  passionate,  mute  thanksgiving  to  heaven  in  her 
great  joy. 

"  And  so  Belinda  has  grown  up  a  beauty,  after 
all,"  says  O'Shea,  holding  his  graceful  brown  girl  at 
arm's  length  that  he  may  the  better  admire  her. 
"But  I  have  seen  you  already  to-day,  Belinda.  I 
watched  you  this  morning — little  you  all  suspected 
it — when  you  were  starting  from  the  hotel.  A 
good-looking  young  fellow  that,  who  was  with  her, 
Rose,  eh  ?  It  would  be  indiscreet,  I  dare  say,  to 
ask  his  name." 

"  His  name  is  Temple,  Roger  Temple,"  answers 
Belinda,  her  face  burning  with  blushes,  more  for 
Rose's  sake  than  her  own. 

"An  old  friend  of  mine  —  and  Mr.  Shelraa- 
deane's,"  adds  Rose.  Poor  Rose!  She  must  be 
really  more  than  mortal  could  she  make  this  renun- 
ciatory speech  in  a  cheerful  tone.  "  I  had  run  down 
here  with  my  maid  to  see  our  dear  Belinda,  and — 
and  we  met  Captain  Temple — accidentally — " 

"  As  you  have  now  met  me,  Rosie,"  says  Cor- 
nelius, coming,  with  admirable  tact,  to  her  rescue. 
"  Quite  a  chapter  of  accidents,  is  it  not  ?  But  never 
mind,  my  love!  All's  well  that  ends  well,  and  I 
shall  be  only  too  delighted  to  make  Mr.  Roger  Tem- 
ple's acquaintance.  This  moment,"  adds  O'Shea, 
looking  much  as  gentlemen  look  when  they  get  on 
their  legs  to  return  thanks  after  dinner,  "  this  mo- 
ment is  the  happiest — the  crown,  the  finish,  so  to 


A  VAGABOND  HEROINE.  233 

speak — of  my  whole  chequered  life.  But  let  me 
set  myself  right  in  the  opinion  of  those  who  are 
dearest  to  me.  I  come  back,  after  long  absence, 
after  years  of  reputed  death ;  I  find  my  Rosie  fairer, 
younger  than  when  I  left  her,  and  with  her  affections 
still  mine,  and  I  am  the  happiest  fellow  this  side  the 
equator.  But,"  exclaims  Cornelius  grandly,  "  had  a 
cruel  fate  ordained  otherwise,  had  I  found  my  be- 
loved wife  in  a  position  where  duty  demanded  such 
a  sacrifice,  I  would,  whatever  the  cost,  have  kept 
the  fact  of  my  existence  a  secret,  and  in  a  distant 
land  have  prayed  to  my  last  hour  for  the  happiness 
of  her  from  whom  honor,  the  strongest  feeling  of 
which  man's  breast  is  capable,  held  me  apart." 

Major  O'Shea  seems  to  have  grown  an  inch  taller 
during  the  course  of  this  peroration.  He  pronounces 
the  word  honor  with  the  marked  emphasis  you  will 
frequently  observe  men  of  somewhat  shifty  character 
attach  to  it.  His  daughter  gazes  at  him  with  fond, 
wet  eyes  and  trembling  lips ;  while  his  wife — well,  I 
don't  want  to  be  hard  on  Rosie  any  more,  so  we  will 
say  that  his  wife,  too,  weeps.  She  holds  her  laced 
pocket  handkerchief,  at  all  events,  across  her  face,  and 
keeps  up  a  little  running  fire  of  sighs  and  shudders 
and  plaintive  shakes  of  the  head  which  may  be  inter- 
preted at  will. 

Just  as  the  family  group  has  arrived  at  this  inter- 
esting position,  in  walks  Roger  Temple.  He  is  not 
absolutely  ignorant  of  how  matters  stand  (do  you  sup- 
pose Spencer,  with  the  key-hole  sagacity  of  her  tribe, 
did  not  know  that  the  visitor  was  no  visitor,  but  a 


234  A  VAGABOND  HEROINE. 

master,  to  the  full  as  soon  as  Rosie  knew  it  herself?) 
and  it  must  be  confessed  bears  the  calamity  that  has 
befallen  him  with  a  show  of  manly  fortitude  that  does 
him  credit. 

"  This — this  is  Captain  Temple,"  stammers  poor 
Rosie,  "  Cornelius,  my  dear — 

"  Captain  Temple,  let  me  introduce  myself,"  says 
O'Shea,  airily,  and  moving  toward  his  wife's  friend 
with  outstretched,  cordial  hand.  "  A  dead  man  may 
dispense  with  formalities.  Yery  happy  and  proud  to 
make  Captain  Temple's  acquaintance ! " 

Who  could  feel  awkwardness  long,  under  the  Hi- 
bernian sunshine  of  such  a  greeting  ?  If  we  were  to 
conclude  that  no  queer,  contradictory  pang  of  jealousy 
contracts  Roger's  heart  at  this  moment  we  should  err. 
I  have  said  already  that  the  existence  of  a  husband, 
any  husband,  seems  a  necessary  element  of  that  Quix- 
otic sentiment  of  his  which  he  has  been  so  long  ac- 
customed to  consider  hopeless  passion ;  and  the  sight 
of  Rose  at  O' Shea's  side  has  awakened  emotion  in 
him  such  as  he  certainly  never  felt  during  the  past 
heavy  weeks  when  he  knew,  or  believed,  her  to  be 
legitimately  his  own. 

This  jealousy,  however,  jealousy,  regret,  call  it  by 
what  name  one  will,  is  evanescent  as  the  love  itself 
was  unreal.  At  the  first  glance  Roger  meets  from 
Belinda's  eyes,  Major  O'Shea's  resurrection  seems  to 
him  as  much  a  thing  of  the  past  as  the  parting  on  the 
Margate  beach,  or  the  declaration  beside  the  hippo- 
potamus !  Five  minutes  later  the  restored  husband 
and  supplanted  lover  are  chatting  together  with  a 


A  VAGABOND  HEROINE.  235 

friendliness  that  must  dispel  Rosie's  last  lingering 
dread  as  to  the  probability  of  a  duel.  In  half  an 
hour's  time  O'Shea  is  whispering  affectionately  in  his 
wife's  ear — Darby  and  Joan  together — on  the  sofa  (I 
have  been  harsh,  too  harsh,  upon  Rosie,  more  than 
once ;  it  gives  me  pleasure  to  part  from  her  in  peace, 
happily  restored  to  a  husband's  sheltering  arms) ;  and 
Belinda  finds  herself  at  an  open  window,  in  the 
farthest  corner  of  the  room,  with  Roger  Temple  by 
her  side. 

They  talk  common-places  for  a  long  time,  talk 
about  the  clearness  of  the  night,  the  beauty  of  the 
stars,  the  sweetness  of  the  orange  flowers  in  the 
courtyard.  They  keep  at  a  distance ;  they  dare  not 
look  into  each  other's  eyes.  And  all  the  while  they 
know  that  they  are  lovers ;  that  the  good-bye  spoken 
between  them  a  couple  of  hours  ago  is  canceled; 
that  they  are  free;  and  God  willing,  mean  to  pass 
tb rough  the  rest  of  their  lives  together,  hand  in 
hand. 

"  Time  for  me  to  be  thinking  of  the  Maison 
Lohobiague  and  Miss  Burke,"  says  Belinda  at  last. 
"  There  is  Costa  waiting  patiently  at  the  gate,  as 
usual,  to  take  me  home.'' 

"  Home !  Don't  let  me  hear  you  use  the  word 
any  more  in  connection  with  the  Maison  Lohobiague," 
exclaims  Roger.  "  You  have  finished  with  the  Mai- 
son Lohobiague  and  Miss  Burke  forever.'' 

"  Yes ;  I  suppose  papa  will  like  me  to  live  in 
England,  now.  Poor  papa — if  you  knew  how  good 
it -is  to  be  able  to  say  that  word  again  ! " 


236  A  VAGABOND  HEROINE. 

"  I  hope  another  word  may  seem  as  good  to  you 
some  day  ? " 

No  reply  in  speech.  She  only  turns  to  him  her 
dark  eyes,  shining  through  a  mist  of  joyful  tears, 
and  Roger  Temple  is  contented. 

"  It  cannot  be  for  a  long,  immensely  long  time 
to  come."  This  remark  of  Belinda's  is  in  answer  to 
a  very  difficult  and  momentous  question  that  Roger 
asks  her  presently.  "  In  the  first  place  because  of 
Rose — Rose,  who  believes  your  heart  to  be  breaking, 
sir,  at  this  moment !  In  the  second,  because  I  shall 
have  to  go  to  school.  Do  you  know,  Captain  Tem- 
ple, that  I  cannot  write  my  own  name  legibly  ? " 

"  I  dare  say  you  will  be  able  to  sign  it,  to  make 
a  cross  at  least,  on  one  important  occasion,"  says 
Roger  gravely.  "  That  is  quite  sufficient.  I  don't 
get  on  with  learned  ladies  or  they  with  me ;  witness 
Miss  Burke." 

"  But  I  am  ignorant  of  everything — '' 

"Except  bull-fighting,  bolero-dancing,  slang  in 
four  languages — " 

"  Ah,  don't  remind  me  of  all  that  now,"  she 
interrupts  him  with  burning  cheeks.  "If  you 
knew,"  humbly,  "  how  different  I  mean  to  be  for 
the  future !  Send  me  to  the  strictest  boarding- 
school  in  Brighton,  London,  anywhere  you  choose — 
only  get  a  home  for  Costa,  meanwhile — and  see  if  I 
can't  be  turned  into  a  respectable  member  of  society 
in  time." 


A  VAGABOND  HEROINE.  237 

Roger  takes  her  trembling  hand  in  his  and 
kisses  it. 

"  You  shall  never  go  to  a  boarding-school  while 
you  live,  child,  in  London  or  elsewhere,  and  heaven 
forbid  you  should  be  turned  into  anything  but  what 
you  are  !  There  are  respectable  members  of  society, 
and  to  spare,  in  the  world  already.  There  are  very 
few  Belindas." 

So  the  curtain  falls  upon  this  little  drama. 

Let  us  hope  that  the  "  moonshine  love  on  a  bal- 
cony" will  prove  love  of  the  true  sort  after  all — the 
sort  that  lasts  for  life. 


THE   END. 


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